


A Whole New World

by paupotter_4869



Series: A Love Much Greater Than A Dream [4]
Category: The Host - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: AU, F/M, Missions, ending, families, looking for humans, reuniting families, reuniting the earth, souls and humans are friends, souls leave the earth, the seeker - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-01-25 04:18:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 148,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12522808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paupotter_4869/pseuds/paupotter_4869
Summary: For more than two months now, Earth belongs back to humankind. Everyone’s coming to terms with our newly changed reality. Some are just joyful and grateful every hour of every week. Many are having a hard time fitting in a new world they can't consider theirs. I belong to the second type.The story of how things sway and don't go as soothly as hoped to get back to normal, where humans are the rightful inhabitants of the Earth, from Wanda's point of view.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All credit to Stpehenie Meyer. Hope you enjoy this !

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On their quest to find their next of kin, Wanda and her family find themselves at a motel nearby Denver city.

For more than two months now, Earth belongs back to humankind. 

Souls are gradually leaving the Planet and the humans occupied, those whose consciousness did come back, are slowly returning to their hometowns, getting together with their families, all time best friends, ex partners, even receiving warmly into their homes those they once hated, now all remorse and anger long past. 

Everyone’s coming to terms with our newly changed reality. 

Some are just joyful and grateful every hour of every week, celebrating, still months after the so-called miracle, getting our Planet back, being surprisingly kind and amiable to everyone who crosses their path. This time around there might not be hate, racism, discrimination of any kind between humans; only compassion, righteousness, fidelity. May sound strange coming from the species inhabiting the Earth, but that seems to be everyone’s goal today. Societies are now what Souls had envisioned for humanity. 

On the other hand, many are still coping with the extraordinary events that are taking place at such fast pace that it’s becoming hard to keep up. I belong to the second type. If Souls are leaving the Earth on a daily basis is because of me. My lectures, my great idea of sharing what I understood of humankind by being ‘isolated in the desert’ for more than two years. I forced them to make that decision of leaving; they didn’t do it on their own--and that’s wrong. It’s practically genocide, from the species that were never in danger in the first place. I planted the sow of remorse on their brains and now there’s no turning back. Should have thought about it, the point of view from the other species in the balance, earlier. Now it’s too late. 

I hear the toilet flushing and I hurry to wipe the tears off my cheeks, knowing I’m not fast enough to jump into bed again from where I’m standing. A light hurts my eyes and I shift away from the beam; the movement alerting of my presence to the person who was using the bathroom, someone I can’t see just yet because of the bright light. 

“What the--Wanda?” asks Jared in a whisper, stepping closer with concern. 

I growl internally. Perfect. Just the man I wanted to talk to. Sarcasm, I’ve realized, is just too inherited in me already to brush it off now. 

Jared wouldn’t be my first choice when it comes to opening my heart, but I also know he won’t drop it until I do. There’s no way in hell he hasn’t seen my tears. What he does, however, is throw a blanket over my shoulders, maybe because he noticed also my shivering--cold after who knows how many hours of leaning against the motel’s room window, away from the warmth of Ian and our bed. Jared tucks me safely before sitting down on the windowsill before me, leaving a respectful distance between us, crossing his legs so he doesn’t push me against the opposite wall. 

“What are you doing?” he asks politely, nicer than I’d expected coming from him. 

I bury my head behind my hair and avoid his eyes. 

“Let’s just agree that Nick had to be fed.” 

He raises an eyebrow before my stupid excuse and we both turn to take a look at the crib where my child’s sleeping. Ever since he was born he’s got a regular sleeping pattern of six to eight hours approximately. He’s barely ever given us any headache at night. Bless him, he seems to understand everything else in the world is just upside down and aims for being the perfect child as not to give us any more problems than necessary. Only during his wake hours does he really require an adult figure to keep an eye on him, feed him and entertain him, the rest of the time he’s an angel--sleeps like one too. 

“Jared, go back to sleep,” I scowl when my excuse doesn’t get him off the windowsill. 

“Not until you tell me what’s bugging you.” 

“For the--Go back to Mel.” 

“Not a chance, Wanda. Or d’you want me to wake her up?” 

“Don’t you dare,” I forbid in a scowl, grabbing him by the arm. Even if I could never stop him physically, not even in my dreams, the coldness of my fingers seems to do the trick, as he doesn’t move from the spot and squints at me. 

“Then out with it,” he commands softly. “There shouldn’t be secrets in the family.” 

I’m no longer taken aback when someone openly remarks on us all being a family--in fact, Jared and I have evolved to actually act like normal human siblings use to treat each other. At least we bicker as such, that’s what I reckon. 

“You’re a stubborn pain in the ass, d’you know that? Does Mel know she’s got the most annoying boyfriend in the World?” 

“Oh, she’s aware, don’t worry,” he promises in a chuckle. “But the question here is--why isn’t your boyfriend aware that you’re this upset?” 

“He is,” I defend immediately. Ian’d be the one by my side at this exact moment weren’t he so caught up with his own thoughts and if he didn’t truly need some long hours of sleep tonight of all nights. 

“No, you know what? Forget it,” I scowl, knowing he’s not the one I want to talk this through again. 

“Wanda, spill it out,” he insists, a bit tired. “We both know you’ll give in at some point.” 

Yes, we do, but the time has not yet come, so I turn my head towards the window, avoiding his gaze. I notice his exasperation--doesn’t like to be kept waiting and not get the answers he wants. But, knowing me, he lets out a deep sigh, gets comfortable on the spot again and also looks at the scenery at our feet. 

We’re in the second floor of a side-road motel, far away from any city, henceforth we can see every star up there in the sky, a sight that still baffles Jared. Slowly, his--and everybody else’s--stern and serious façade has dropped, since there is no danger anymore coming from any of the inhabitants of Earth, and he’s opened up his heart and mind again to the beautiful and marvelous things in life. In fact, the one who hasn’t changed back from that is Ian, but just because deep down he’s still nothing more than an adorable, joyful child with the warmest of hearts, just as he was before.

But there is one more thing visible up there in the sky. A stream of white, clear light crossing the length of the window. Traveling from who knows which city to another unknown location. We do know, however: leaving the Earth and headed for one of the Planets out there. 

And that sight, right there, is what’s giving me nightmares. 

“Look,” I say, without moving my eyes from that trail. “What do you see?” 

Jared looks up--he knows immediately what I’m talking about and stares at it for a long time, longingly. 

“Hope,” he says finally and I have to stop myself from hitting him, even when I know I’d only get a bruise on my hands, not on his arm. 

“If I’d wanted to hear my answer, I wouldn’t have asked,” I scowl. 

He grins back at me, knowing that--he just likes to exasperate me every chance he’s got. He’s worse than an older brother, he is. 

“Sorry. What I see is another spaceship filled with the kindest of Souls who we owe a world-class gratitude to,” he says honestly, “for giving us back our Planet.” 

_Is that what he sees?_ I ask myself, surprised, staring after that spaceship trail. Hadn’t expected this answer coming from him. Not for the fact that he’s not usually keen to open confessions and gestures of affection, but because it’d seem that hate on Souls is gradually vanishing as well, in lockstep with them giving up our Planet. 

He’s not done yet. “I see that we should have been on that airport and said it. Bid them farewell the way they deserved, the way we did it at the beginning, with the first waves of Souls leaving.” 

In a gesture not as awkward as I’d feared, I hold his hand, trying to tell him what he already knows: the thought’s all that matters. And all those Souls inside that spaceship know it too, and are aware of the feelings all humans share today. 

“We can’t do that with every spaceship that leaves Earth. They go to live another life. We have to move on with our lives, too.”

He looks down on me with the smallest of grins on his lips. 

“So, why aren’t you?” he demands. 

Oh, well. It’s not the first time, nor the last, he or any other human’s managed to turn my own words against me. I take my hand off his shoulder, a bit sharp, because I myself am a bit pissed off, as I lean against the wall, as far away from him as physically possible. If I could hurt him--not the first time I wish I were able to, either. I settle for a scowl and avoiding his eyes, again. 

“Come on--Tell me, please, Wanda.” 

“You got your Planet back,” I whisper, avoiding his eye once again. 

“Indeed,” he agrees, cocking his head to show his exasperation that I don’t get to the point fast enough. “Thanks to you.” 

“Most of the Souls who occupied this Planet in the past years have now left the Earth.” 

“Again, thanks to you,” he says, still not following. “But none of it explains why you’re this happy,” he chuckles, patting me on the head, the way he’d do with Jamie. 

I take a deep breath to be able to say the words evenly and without my voice breaking. 

“Shouldn’t I leave too?” I ask, looking at him straight in the eye. 

His good mood vanishes at once upon receiving my look and, leaning against the wall behind him, he growls, so loudly that I fear someone’s heard him. Looking above my shoulder, however, I can check by myself that everyone’s sleep is as sound as Nick's. 

“Please, tell me this is not again about remorse, Wanda,” he begs, exhausted. 

I see now I’ve not picked the best person to discuss this with. Jared should have been the last person I should have tried to speak my mind, I scowl internally as I try to get him down the windowsill pushing away his stretched legs, without much success. 

“Right. That helped a lot. Thanks for the pep-talk, go back to sleep now. _Go._ ” 

“Wanda--” 

“And take this with you,” I command, throwing the blanket at him. 

He grabs it before it hits his head and pushes it away, letting it fall to the floor, scooping a bit closer. “Only if you’re going to bed too.” 

“Can’t promise you that because I won’t.” 

“Wanda--” 

“Leave me alone, please,” I beg and for once he should notice it’s not a simple request. 

And now we’ve done it, raised our voices too much and woken everybody else in the room, which is a fair amount of people, considering the given space--we couldn’t have had any other sleeping arrangements. Jared and I freeze, damning ourselves internally, as growls raise all around the room, lights lit and I see how unconsciously, they all reach out looking for, just in case, some sort of weapon to defend themselves and attack if necessary--Melanie grabs the lamplight, Ian the cellphone, Jamie’s just too stunned to act that fast. Old habits are hard to die, I guess. 

Mel and Ian are the first ones to stand, scared after not seeing Jared nor me by their side. 

“Jared?” whines Mel, looking around for him. 

“Wanda?” whimpers Ian. “Nick?!” 

“Here,” I say, raising a hand so their eyes catch the movement and they turn towards our position faster, so we can all calm down sooner and go back to sleep. 

“What’s going on?” demands Jamie, standing with his eyes still closed, because of the sudden light. 

“Nothing,” I reply in a whisper. 

“I just came out of the bathroom and found Wanda here,” explains Jared, voice hoarse, lying as only he can, as Mel comes closer, putting her jumper on. 

“Is Nick--” 

“He’s fine,” I promise Ian, whose fears were well not over, before he dashes through the room and checks if the baby’s still on the crib, risking for him to wake up. “Sleeping. I was the one who couldn’t.” 

Ian’s already beside me. He grabs both sides of my face to force me to look at him in the eye, to see the truth in them--not that necessary, since he knows I can’t lie for my life. 

“Nightmare?” he asks in a whisper. 

“Not exactly,” I reply, breaking eye contact. 

“Alright, everyone, back to bed,” orders Melanie sharply, an order obviously addressed to get Jamie out of ear shot--he complies at once, too exhausted to worry about me, knowing, now for sure, there’s not a real threat over any of us. “That includes you too, Wanda,” she adds warningly, sweeter tone, after Jamie’s back’s on us. 

“OK, I’m going,” I scowl, jumping off the windowsill, into Ian’s arms. 

He wraps me with his night gown, but beyond that, he doesn’t meet my eye and I just know--some things you learn over time--that he and Mel are having another one of those internal conversations via one meaningful look, about me. 

We return to bed, shut all the lights and Ian cuddles me silently in the darkness until we can definitely hear three even breathings, proving Jared, Mel and Jamie are already asleep, or the two former are, at least, pretending to be. Then Ian shifts closer, rests his hand on my shoulder and asks me in a whisper, his breath warming my neck and brushing my hair. 

“Still beating yourself up?” 

His tone, though exhausted about this subject as well, is nowhere near Jared’s reproaching and condescending voice and I can’t get mad at him, even when both men were right. Jared was simply complaining about my inability to let go of my remorse, even with all the time I’ve had to adjust; some feelings that make Ian worry and do what he can to help me. 

I try to spin around, but he doesn’t allow me to, his arms tensing around my body as he realizes his intuition was spot on. 

“Don’t answer that,” he gives in, trying to hide his scowl. “Why are you so obsessed over something that should be the last thing on your mind?” 

“Because!” 

“You’re a Soul,” he finishes for me. “That doesn’t mean you have to live in remorse while everyone else is rejoicing. You don’t share that feeling, I know,” he adds before I butt in, saying exactly what I was going to say. “You can’t. You still feel bad for something that, pardon me, I simply can’t understand.” 

“Ian,” I beg, but he still doesn’t stop to listen. 

“You got us our Planet back. _Your_ Planet back. The Planet where your true family lives, where Nick, your son, will grow old in. Can’t this family feeling be the only thing in your mind?” 

I hear him, I really do, and I know as well that I should be able to understand and do what he says. But, tired of not getting a chance to get my saying in, I kick Ian so he releases me--in a surprised chuckle, although I’m well aware I didn’t actually hurt him--and I spin around, ready to speak my mind again, but he stops me simply by resting his forehead against mine, his lips too close to mine, mixing our breaths. 

“Please,” he begs; I am not able not to listen to his plea now. “Tomorrow will be a too long day. Can’t we drop it here tonight?” 

At once I nod in acceptance. Not that his prayers have always got me to stop whenever he wanted to, not that this short conversation actually changed my mind, but it is true that tomorrow will be an emotional roller coaster for Ian and his brother. No matter what else I’m thinking or feeling, I do have to put it all behind, for the time being--Ian needs me tomorrow, in Denver. I’m the one supposed to be comforting him tomorrow, not the other way around. There’ll be a time to address these feelings and to talk about everything and fix things--we’ve got a lifetime. Contrary to the many Souls who haven’t got a chance to finish their lives on Earth. 

I push those thoughts away immediately, lean against Ian’s chest and blissfully, fall asleep rather quickly, surprisingly enough--Ian’s arms around me, his scent, his own tiredness do the trick.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyle and Ian take a walk down memory lane and visit their old childhood home in Denver.

After so much time living in the desert, there’s this one recurrent theme we all look forward to in whatever city we go to, wherever it is: green areas. The thousand different green shades in a park that we never got to see out there in the Arizona desert, the rummage of the wind blowing among the trees, the music that the graze amongst the branches and leaves creates, the running of glimmering water from a fountain or a nearby stream, or the shades from underneath the trees, cooling us despite the high temperatures, never as hot as what we used to suffer in Arizona--those are a few of the miracles we were missing out on and look for wherever in the map we might end up. 

So, when we finally get to Denver city, capital of Colorado state, it’s normal that we should find ourselves firstly at the Washington Park, perhaps a funny first sight-seeing stop for a first-time tourists of the city, rather than the Aquarium, the Theme Park or the National Wildlife Refuge, some of the landmarks that were recommended by the many hosts of the motels we stopped at on our way here. But the purpose of our trip around the US isn’t solely touristic--we are here for a reason, concerning two of our group’s members. 

The two members, the O’Shea brothers, who are very familiar to the area and the city; almost as soon as we got into the city they started remembering some familiar buildings and roads. Now, the longer they walk around the city and its most iconic places, the more they remember from their past life, the one we’re all trying to get back to. 

And although we are making an effort in order to find a sense of belonging and a feeling of security, when it comes down to get apart from each other, it turns out to be harder than expected, for each and everyone of us, still today. 

“Are you absolutely sure, Jeb?” I demand for the tenth time in a row. 

“Positive,” promises the man, confident and calm. 

“I’m not so certain. Maybe it’s a bad idea. Let me--” 

“Sweetie, appreciate the concern, but I’m going to do it, whether you think it’s a good or bad idea. Me, I think it’s genious.” 

“But still--” 

“Oh, let him have it,” Ian interjects me, squeezing my shoulders, but only because he just can’t stand another argument with the old man. “You know how much he likes the spotlight.” 

“It’s not as if it were dangerous or anything,” adds Kyle. “I think he’s found his--what’d you call it? His profession?” 

“Calling,” I correct him. 

“That’s right. I think he’s found his Calling in this new world,” settles Kyle. All through our conversation, Jeb doesn’t once drop his smug act, or the biggest grin I’ve ever seen on his face--it’s true, there’s no human way I can convince him not to do this. He’s loved every second he’s spent on national TV, a different station each week, according to the path we’re taking to visit the hometowns of all our family, sending a reassuring message to all humans that are still in hiding, in case they still believe the peace agreement is bogus. 

“And on the other hand, I think you’ve got some admirers yourself, Wanda,” says Jeb, looking behind us, above my shoulder. 

I close my eyes and sigh deeply, while everyone else turns around with broad smiles and greeting words on their lips. I’d noticed them a long time ago--hard to miss when they’re almost shouting ten feet from our group. 

“I hoped you wouldn’t point it out.” 

“No such luck,” chuckles Jeb, turning so he’s clearly addressing the family of seven people who’re all whispering and looking in our direction. “Morning, ladies,” he greets, touching the brim of his hat. 

That greeting’s almost an invitation for them, so the family--grandmother, daugther and husband and three daughters--approaches us, or rather me, and don’t think twice before hugging me warmly, as if they knew me. Because they actually do know me. Same as Jeb, I’ve appeared on TV a few times myself, and my DVD copies of my lectures are available around the globe, in any language you want it. So I get these meetings and conversations with people I’ve never seen before everywhere I go--anywhere our quest takes us--and I’ve got used to it by now. Unfortunately. I just take a deep breath and be as polite as I can while the conversation lingers. 

“Wanderer, thank you so much,” they say, truly meaning it. To them, I’ve just given their world back, almost single-handedly, as if there hadn’t been the work of dozens of humans behind it--but they’re blind to see truth beyond my figure. They’re still weary of those permanent gleamy eyes, which was until quite recently the very sign of their enemy, but all in all, the transition has actually been as smooth as we’d hoped for. 

“Don’t think twice about it,” I reply, wishing everyone’d forget about it. Thankfully, Ian and the rest of the family joins the conversation, compensating my lack of energy and touch. 

“Too late,” they chuckle, “we thank you everyday.” 

“Well, don’t, and just start enjoying your own world,” I suggest. 

“Oh, we will,” they all promise, having a hard time actually going away. 

“Have a lovely day,” I bid farewell. 

“You too!” 

“Take care,” is by now a farewell motto by one and all--still sleeping with one eye open, even if it’s not anymore an advice that needs to be heed. 

“I’m going back to the caves,” I scowl as soon as they’re gone and out of hearing shot--although I can still hear their excited conversation and locate them behind a nearby line of trees. Ian chuckles and rubs my back. 

“Come on,” he scoffs. 

“It wasn’t a bad life,” I say. “I could live in confinement, really. This is way worse--I can’t take it anymore.” 

“Are you saying this is worse, compared to those first few months in the caves?” asks Ian, raising one eyebrow. We all try to avoid speaking or even mentioning the less than welcome reception I got back in the day, but it’s still fresh in our minds. 

“Thousand times worse--now anyone can come up at me and I just can’t tell them no.” 

“Well, maybe that’s on you,” replies Jared, joining us with Mel and Jamie after stopping at a supermarket for a few bottles of water and sharing them around with everyone. “Might be about time you learn to say ‘no’ to someone--start with your boyfriend, maybe that way he’ll stop getting on my nerves.” 

“Plus, do you remember that back then you were at the spotlight because people wanted you dead, right?” adds Mel, as usual being the kindest sibling one could hope for. 

“Why do I keep subjecting myself to this?” I whimper, without answering to any of them, leaning against Ian. 

“Sweetie, it’s not that bad,” replies Jeb, with that tone of voice that indicates we’re way past the topic at hand. “Now, I think we came here for something else than sight-seeing, complaining and appearing on TV, right?” 

I smile--Jeb still is the one leading this group, the glue that keeps this family united, even if by now we’re all scattered around the States--because that’s what we need, even if we never got around to discuss it, someone to keep us all together. I look up at Ian cautiously, whose face has dropped suddenly. Even Kyle, who was until now playing with a dog, belonging to someone else’s family, quits the break and joins us, hugging Sunny by the shoulders. 

“Yeah, we should get going,” says Mel, checking her watch, before reaching for Jeb’s shoulder with her free arm. “You coming? You’ve got time to spare.” 

“Nah, it’s a nice day--it calls for staying outdoors,” replies the man, nonchalant. We make a visual count of the people present, falling down again on poor Jamie. 

“Young man--” starts Maggie.

“I want to go too!” says him immediately, hanging by Mel’s and my arm. 

We should have expected this answer from him--he hasn’t been away from me or Mel once since this whole ordeal began--and we wouldn’t have had it any other way, to be completely honest. Sighing, Jeb looks up at Ian and Kyle; today, they’re the bosses. 

“Your call,” he lets them know. 

“It’s fine with me,” shrugs Ian. “He’s not a bother.” 

“Alrightie,” approves Jeb. “Give us a call when you’re done.”

“Will do,” I promise, having a very hard time actually turning away from him and Sharon and the rest of my family. I wish that apart from doing a call, cell phones enabled me to keep in contact with them, permanent visual contact, so we were certain nothing should happen to them while we’re apart. Every time we meet again is like a small miracle. 

“See you later,” Ian bids farewell. 

“Good luck,” praises Mel, squeezing Jeb’s hand as we--Kyle, Sunny, Jamie, Mel, Jared, Ian carrying Nick and myself--set on our way, leaving the rest of our family behind. Even though I know first-hand, better than anyone else, that they’ll be safe and sound, it’s harsh to say farewell, however temporarily, and I clutch to Mel’s and Ian’s hands, feeling Jamie and Jared close too. This new situation, although positive in every imaginable way, is testing all our nerves. 

“Well, you lead,” I say as we exit the park. 

Ian takes a very deep breath, looking around, but it’s not he the one who speaks up. 

“This way,” says Kyle instead of him, turning left. 

He and his brother walk forwards, leading the eight-people group, tense and insecure, without sharing a single word or a single look, and without a shred of doubt concerning our destination--it’s amazing what one’s mind can remember even if it’s after the end of the world. Then again, no one ever forgets home. 

About twenty minutes after leaving the park, where all we’ve said concerned Nick, whom I took from Ian’s arms just so he could have his hands free, and Jamie, a bit annoyed by the prolonged silence, Ian and Kyle freeze in the middle of the street, before this particular building. It’s not different from those surrounding it; a normal building in a typical metropolis street. But, the emotional impact that coming back to this place to these two young men could be too much to handle, Ian’s squeezing my wrist a bit too tight, it’s now becoming harmful. I don’t say a word as to push Ian, Kyle following suit, to cross the street and stop again in front of the building’s doors. 

I am the one to push them open as well, so Kyle and Sunny come in first. Jared then holds the door for me and Ian and lastly, Jamie and Mel. We all climb the stairs to the third floor--the elevators a luxury none of us needs--and then come to another halt in front of the apartment marked with a silver ‘D’ capital letter. Once again, after sharing on look full of tenderness and, quite honestly, also concern, with the two O’Shea brothers, I’m the one who rings the bell. 

There’s a loud chime echoing inside the apartment--I can tell by Ian’s response that this wasn’t the bell they had when they lived here. Less than a minute later, the woman who inhabits the apartment answers the door, a bit out of breath, probably as anxious about this meeting as Ian and Kyle themselves. I reach my hand to Ian, praying silently for him to cool it and not overreact. For a Soul, with her characteristic gleamy eyes, to be the one to answer your childhood’s home’s door after years of hating the Soul species might be a task too difficult, just yet, even for Ian’s naturality for peaceful and amenity. And that’s why I didn’t warn either of them that the apartment was still being occupied--they needn’t another reason for bailing out of this. I just hoped Jared and Mel are fast enough to stop and restrain Kyle, if it comes to it.

“Hello, Camille,” I greet after maybe a minute of silence, where no one could find words. “We spoke over the phone--” 

“You’re Wanda, of course,” she interjects, letting out a deep breath of air now that she can hold onto something. “Very nice to meet you,” she greets, shaking my hand. “And who’s Ian?” 

“It’s me,” says the man, stuttering a bit. “This is my brother Kyle.”

“Then, if I’m not mistaken, you must be Melanie, Jared and, of course, Jamie,” proceeds Camille, sending an amiable smile to the boy. 

“You aren’t,” I promise--they’ve all appeared on TV with me as well. “And lastly, this is Sunny.”

Camille’s face lights up upon seeing another Soul amongst the group, knowing it’ll make things easier, but it’s barely noticeable. 

“Nice to meet you all. Please, come in.” 

“Thanks,” appreciates Kyle, for once in his life showing some manners and placing a hand on Sunny’s waist as to let her come in first. Ian and Jared extend the same courtesy to me and Mel and the poor Jamie enters the last. 

We step into the leaving room, Ian and Kyle freezing on their spot, their mouths half-hanging as they let sink their surroundings in. It’s definitely not what they were expecting; the place has changed beyond recognition, I know looking at Ian’s eyes. We face the same crossroad back when Judy visited her home place and once again with Jared. As humans did, Souls redecorated their new places to their taste--can’t really blame them. But after some generations of Souls--who knows how many of them--living here, it’s almost impossible to know what the original apartment looked like. 

There is a way of knowing, actually, though. I hand Nick to Jamie, who only by having some kind of errand and responsibility is feeling much better now--thankfully, Nick doesn’t budge by the change of arms. And seeing how Camille’s instantly besotted by the baby, I know he’s in very good hands, so I join Ian, who’s slowly walking around the living room. 

“The walls were mahogany,” he says and Kyle grunts in agreement. I turn towards Jared, but I don’t have to tell him anything; he’s already got the machine on his hands, the light on, introducing frantically all the data Ian and Kyle mention. 

“There was this corner right here with a grandfather clock, same auburn color, d’you remember?” proceeds Kyle. 

“Of course I do. You once had me sitting right there for a whole afternoon telling me to count the seconds till the clock stopped working,” says Ian, a memoir that gets the rest of us chuckling, hoping not to be inappropriate. 

“All the furniture went along that color--red wood, or brown covers, or some shreds of white.” 

“A three-piece sofa was around here, with a painting on the wall above it--what was it? A vase with some flowers?” 

“Yeah,” nods Kyle once, looking up at the wall. “Magnolias, I think they were. I once dared you to count all the leaves on the painting,” mocks Kyle. 

“Could you stop embarrassing me?” begs Ian, just a little bit irritated--but as we can see, that was their relationship ever since they were kids. 

“Sorry, bro. That’s my life’s work,” Kyle replies, winking at his sibling. 

Ian sighs in exasperation and I rest a hand on his back; he turns around with a smile I hadn’t foreseen this soon. They’re taking this much better than anticipated--the real struggle is how on Earth could Ian put up with his brother for so long, even while they were on the road hiding from Souls. But it’s nice to see their relationship’s still intact, even after everything they’ve been put through, now that they’re back home. 

“There was here a white, round couch, to the right of the sofa,” Ian proceeds, pointing the approximate spot. “A coffee table by the couch and another one, shorter, wider, made of glass, in front of it.” 

As Ian and Kyle keep reminiscing, with striking memory, the place they used to live in, Jared keeps introducing all the data in the device, recently developed by Souls and aimed at interiors design, to the last detail. When Ian and Kyle can’t put their finger on anything else concerning the living room, Jared presses one last button and a 3-D, full color hologram appears in front of us, showing a replica, as precise as the O’Shea brothers recall it, of their childhood’s living room; and it’s true this has nothing to do with the place we’re in at this moment. There’ve been too many changes--I prefer the original arrangement a whole lot better. Kyle and Ian stop breathing for a second or two upon seeing before their eyes the actual living room they used to know, their eyes blurry. At the same time, Sunny and I step forward to grab their hands, trying to encourage them both. 

Without a word, nor asking for Camille’s permission, the two brothers turn towards the corridor on the left--their old bedrooms. Now transformed into a study and an ironing room, but we get a glimpse of the place it used to be thanks to the device operated by Jared. I like Ian’s old room, I confess in a chuckle--serious, that of a boy, but also, still a child’s. The bed covers, curtains, couple of shelves and even the desk were painted in dark grey, but with many polka dots of a thousand colors and varying sizes, plus the desk’s chair was red crimson. I wouldn’t mind Nick sleeping in here. 

Nearly thirty minutes later we all go back to the living room, where we’ve left Camille taking care of our baby, Jamie too interested in the O’Shea’s old family house--fortunately, both the baby and Camille are having the time of their lives, it’d seem. When we show up her smile vanishes, out of respect for Kyle and Ian--the remnants of a past life isn’t the only reason why we’re all here. 

“I’m so sorry,” whispers Camille beforehand. Another apology coming from a Soul’s lips on behalf our whole species. 

“We know. Thank you,” Ian answers politely, because there truly aren’t many things a human can say to that. Slowly, we all take our places around the living room: Jamie sits on the couch, probably the same spot he’d claimed earlier, between Nick crib and Camille--the only human who can act naturally around the woman, because he actually doesn’t give a damn about the whole Soul or human thing. I let him take care of Nick and sit on the dining table by Ian side, between him and Kyle, with Sunny on the chair by Kyle’s left. Mel and Jared, although there are spare chairs, prefer to stand--just in case. There are big windows facing the street, somehow that element still disturbs some of us. 

The room falls silent, apart from Nick's chortles from whatever Jamie’s doing, unsure of how to proceed the conversation. Before Camille feels too insecure and decides it’s her cue to offer her guests tea or any refreshments, I speak up slowly. Although I know she won’t take any of these questions personally, it’s still a delicate matter. 

“Camille, do you know how many Souls have occupied this apartment before you?” I ask. 

“Afraid not,” whispers the woman, eyeing me nervously to find some comfort. “But I checked who was the previous owner. I’ve got a name and an address for you,” she adds, handing Kyle a piece of paper. 

We all take a peek above his shoulder to find out the address in question is from New York City. 

“Convenient,” mutters Jared as Kyle folds the piece of paper and puts it in his trousers pocket. NYC, that’s where we were supposed to go next in order to find Jared’s parents; maybe we’ll be able to hit two targets with one shot, throughout the same trip. 

“OK, then. Have you received any more visitors?” he asks, as polite as we could have hoped coming from him. 

Camille shakes her head very slowly. 

“Then, we should get going,” decides Ian. 

“Don’t you want to stay overnight?” I ask, concerned for such a hurry, keeping him on the chair by grabbing his wrist. I understand everyone wants to get back in touch with their families, but we should still take it one step at a time. I’d certainly wish to stay for some hours, at least, if I’d just returned home--if I had one to return to. Ian and Kyle must be wishing to stay here, sleep in their old bedrooms, cook in their old kitchen. 

“That’s what we’ll do after we find all our family,” promises Ian, taking my hand to kiss my palm. 

“But--” 

He takes a look around and from the dining room’s master table he fetches a pen and paper and scribbles a quick note: 

_“Dad, it’s Ian and Kyle. We’re both alive, safe and sound. If you return, stay home--we’ve left for NYC looking for you. Hope to see you real soon. Contact us at the numbers below,”_ adding as well three cell phone numbers, the one I usually carry, the one Kyle will take from now on and the one Mel carries--Jeb has got another one, and so do most of our now distant family. Ian hands the note to Kyle so they both sign it, proving somewhat they’re both alive, before gluing the note outside the entrance door by adhesive tape. Let’s just hope that by the time we get back, the paper isn’t hanging outside anymore. 

Having done everything we’d came here for in the first place, we all agree to leave, including Camille, who shuts the apartments’ door close behind her without even considering the possibility of locking the door. She just hands the key set to Ian, who stares at it blankly for some seconds before clearing his throat and pushing the keys deep inside his trousers pocket. 

“Wouldn’t want you to push you out of the house,” I beg, although that’s exactly what we’re forcing her to do. 

“Nah, it’s alright, the rightful owners should live here,” she replies, leading the way to the staircases. “Plus, this Host had a home as well that she should get back to.” 

“Thought you’d stayed behind because your Host’s memories couldn’t be retrieved.” 

“Some manners, Kyle,” I scowl, even when the man’s proving to be some gentleman by holding the door of the staircases open for all of us. That’s not something a Soul should be reminded of so blatantly; he made it sound as if he were accusing Camille of something. 

“And she didn’t,” says Camille politely, a small smile on her lips showing she wasn’t affected in any way by Kyle’s remark. “But I’ve been working with this Comforter and I’m regaining some memories. I think she lived in the north. She’s more comfortable with the cold, snow and alike. Not that I am,” she adds in a chuckle. 

“You come from the Fire World?” asks Jamie, interested all over again--he still hasn’t heard all there is to know about that specific ecosystem. 

“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I was a dolphin, like you’d know them here. But the Earth is still different from that one--” 

Jamie nods, letting her know that he’s aware. “Temperature doesn’t change over there,” he says, understanding Camille’s sentence. “You don’t have seasons where temperatures drop below zero and others where we can suffer a heat stroke by walking down the street.” 

“You seem...Quite informed,” whispers Camille, almost in awe, which is only high praise to Jamie for his curiosity. I smile at Camille--there isn’t much time to explain I’ve been telling him all about the other Worlds out there. 

“Still, ‘the north’ isn’t really quite specific,” comments Jared. 

“Don’t you have more leads to work with?” asks Mel. 

“Afraid not. We’ll work on it,” promises Camille. “I’m hoping headed north might be useful to retrieve some more memories, even flashes of her past life.” 

“Please, don’t force yourself either,” I beg. I stop in the middle of the stairs, prompting everyone to stop walking, and stare right at Camille--too concerned for her to hide it. “Sometimes some memories don’t come back at all. You can’t erase yourself to save her.” 

She smiles pleasantly at me, caressing my elbow briefly. 

“I know, I was warned about it. It’s just--it’s worth a shot, isn’t it?” 

She looks around looking for reassurance, which she doesn’t get--but the answer is obvious to one and all. No human would ever be against that thought. And I’m not either, it’s just--I don’t want any other Soul risking their life on behalf of a human. It’s been done before, there’ve been sacrifices on behalf the human species ever since the leaving waves started. The deal was no more humans or Souls would have to die, we all agreed to it and should act upon that vow. 

“Still, it could be any number of States--” Ian tries to reason. 

“It’s alright, really, I want to take some time traveling and discover this World before leaving it,” promises Camille, resuming walking down the stairs, so we all follow her. “Plus, I don’t think your task is any easier than mine,” she adds, pointing with her head at the apartment we’ve left. 

“Got to grant you that,” accepts Kyle. 

“Come on, ladies,” says Jared, holding the door open for all of us to get out. And once we’re on the street again, Kyle leads Sunny away immediately, without wasting any precious second to even say goodbye. At least the rest stay with me and Camille, trying to pretend pleasantry. 

“Hope you find your family,” Camille whispers, addressing Ian. 

He smiles at her. “Thanks. And you, your home.” 

“Thank you for what you’re doing,” Jared bids farewell, shaking Camille’s hand. “It really means a lot to us.” 

Mel and Jamie also offer her some polite words of farewell, wishing her good luck, receiving the same well-wishes in return. My goodbye takes a bit more time and everyone else, correctly, gives us some space and privacy, Ian taking Nick from me. 

“Listen, ask for help shouldn’t you find the right place, OK? It’s not easy dealing with a non-cooperative mind,” I beg, reluctant to let her leave. “And just in case, here’s my number.” 

I hand her a piece of paper with my number on it. She seems surprised and I’m surprised that she is. We leave no human, Soul or otherwise, behind--that’s our motto, the way we act and live as Souls. That means helping each other reuniting families and finding homes, the task all humans are left with for the foreseeable future. We’re a species and a community, sharing this Planet equally. No one’s left alone, or in sickness, or poverty, or hunger, not if we can help them. We’ve perfected this World; now we have to unite it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short drabble of our family having lunch at a diner in Denver

“Oh, just a Colossal Hamburger for me. With extra onions, bacon and can you add the melted cheese after the burger, please, not between the bread and the burger? Also, a double bag of fries, if possible. And, could you bring me lots of those ketchup baggies? And I’d like a chocolate and vanilla-flavored ice-cream, too. Actually, could you put the vanilla first, then add the chocolate, not mix them? Perhaps with sprinkles on top of--?” 

“Jamie, that’s enough,” says Mel, interjecting our little brother’s order. She grabs his menu and hands it to the waitress, who stands by our table without being able to hide her smile. “Just a regular menu for him--Colossal Hamburger, fries and ice-cream.” 

“And sprinkles on top,” nods the waitress, writing it all down before Mel says the opposite. She collects our menus and looks straight at me, with a nervous smile, for her last words before disappearing. “Thank you for choosing us today, Wanderer.” 

I smile back at her politely, but I use Nick, seated on his carrier by my side, as an excuse to drop my gaze the next second, giving him back the pacifier he’d dropped and one of his favorite toys, a red car that’s missing a wheel. I grab another toy car and I drive it up Nick’ legs, then tummy, making him chuckle joyfully because of the tickles--bringing smiles all around the table as well, even though Mel’s still mildly telling Jamie off. 

“You realize you were ordering more food than threw grown-up men could eat, right?” 

“But, I’m hungry!” 

“Not _that_ much!” 

“Come on, that’s the secret in fast food restaurants--you order more than you know you can ever eat,” chuckles Jared, only to get Jamie off the spotlight. 

“What a waste of money,” scowls Melanie. 

“It would be, if currency still existed,” Ian points out, with very bad timing--the glare he gets from Mel refrains him from speaking again. I chuckle, but I pretend to be too entertained with Nick that I can’t come to anyone’s rescue. 

“Then, what a waste of food,” states Mel, piercing every men on the table with her glare. 

The bickering lingers, making me chuckle--and I have to pretend I laugh because of something that Nick did. These four humans have seen the end of their world and the beginning of a new era and still have the energy and goodwill to joke and bicker like, well, the family they actually are. It’s so normal and familiar that these days, whenever I’m with them all, I have a hard time keeping from smiling. In the end, however, Melanie and I always give in to Jamie’s wishes--he spent one too many years in hiding, misery and in hunger to deny him now any desires, now that getting food and other cravings doesn’t mean risking our own necks. 

Few minutes in the same waitress comes back with our order, effectively cutting off any quarrel amongst us, since we’re all too busy eating. But obviously we couldn’t have a quiet lunch all by ourselves--next time, it’s Nick the one who demands our attention. He’s eaten earlier and I thought he might have been occupied with his picture book long enough for us to eat our lunch, but apparently I was wrong, I gather while I wipe my lips from oil and ketchup. 

“Want to play for a bit?” I ask, knowing I’ll get nothing but an affirmative answer. 

Before I have to ask, Jared hands me the baby bag we left on the floor. I take out the one puzzle we brought with us today, the one with the white board and twenty-one differently shaped and colored pieces that Nick can pile up together however he likes. In order to have more space for him and I and not to bother my family in return, I take Nick into my arms and scoop a bit further down the couch. 

“Switch places, I’ll do that and you can keep on eating,” says Ian, half-standing on the booth. 

“No, that’s OK, I can manage,” I promise, already gathering a few of the yellow pieces, Nick’s favorite color at the moment--perhaps because of the time he spent on the dessert, or at least that’s what we’d like to think. 

Ian raises his hands, knowing arguing with me will do no good, and keeps on eating--chewing and swallowing faster than I’ve ever seen a human being eat before, including Jamie, Jared and Kyle in some of their worse days. He finishes his hamburger and fries in record time, only two minutes later, and faces me with a smug expression, claiming his prize: Nick and his toys. 

“Want to play with Daddy for a bit?” I ask Nick. He’s too mesmerized with his five-pieces tower that he couldn’t give a damn who looks after him. 

“Okay,” he accepts. 

Moving slowly as not to destroy his masterpiece, I let Nick out of my lap and switch places with Ian so I can go back to my already cold lunch, taking all the time in the world. Before us, on the other side of the table, Melanie, Jared and Jamie have kept on eating their food without trying to put in a single word and are almost through their lunches as well. 

“Hey, look! It’s uncle Jeb!” says Jamie with his mouth almost full. 

The usual reactions after those words would be to look outside the window or look at the restaurant’s entrance, but Mel, Jared, Ian and I do nothing of that sort and all turn towards the TV installed up in the corner of the restaurant. Indeed, Jeb’s making his latest appearance on national TV, with his usual message addressed to every remaining human being out there: he encourages them to come out of hiding and trust the Souls, who are not their enemy, or in any case, to contact any other human and let them explain for a long time. We all have to move on from anger and contempt. 

Although one waitress turns on the volume and every other customer in the place turns towards the TV to hear the message for the untenth time, on our booth we all return to our food. We know the speech by heart and, even though we appreciate Jeb’s continuous efforts, don’t need to hear it over and over again. 

“I want to appear on TV too,” whispers Jamie, his voice full of regret and envy. 

“You _did_ appear on TV,” says Mel, reaching out to steal one of Jamie’s fries. The fact that Jamie doesn’t complain for such a vile crime is the indication that this matter really hurts him. 

“ _Just once!_ ” he remarks. “And only because Wanda was asked to introduce her human family.” 

“Well, you had your minute of glory, buddy,” says Jared, sending an arm beyond Melanie to caress Jamie’s shoulder. “Maybe some day, OK?” 

That doesn’t soothe Jamie, but for some miracle or another, he doesn’t complain and we all exhale in relief. In spite of knowing that it’s almost completely safe, we’re still not comfortable enough appearing on national TV and prefer to limit Jamie’s exposure to the public. I actually have to thank Jeb for taking up the ambassador role; I don’t do good in front of a camera. I can’t act a part. 

Jeb’s message lasts for six or seven minutes. Then they lower the volume and slowly conversations and the usual racket resumes at the restaurant. Few seconds later, the same waitress comes back to pick up our dishes and comes right back with the desserts. On that last instance, however, she doesn’t leave immediately, like every other time, but lingers, looking at all of us alternatively--pondering if it’s polite to speak up. 

“Nancy? Something in your mind?” I ask, after looking at her tag name. 

“I--We just wanted to thank you, really,” she confesses, with a nervous smile. 

The plural catches all of our attention--considering the gleam of her eyes, she’s talking about herself and the human she’s inhabiting also. Even Ian stops playing with Nick for a second to focus on the conversation. 

“You mean--” 

“She’s back, yeah. Nancy’s her real name.” 

“What’s yours, then?” I ask--even if the human is back, that’s no reason to forget all about the Soul, that’s still bad manners. 

“The translation would be something similar to ‘Earthly waystone’, but it really doesn’t make it justice,” chuckles the woman, and I join in, because sometimes human language can turn out to be very limited. “I’ve used Nancy for the most part of my existence. But I wanted to say, I’m scheduled to leave next month, when things have settled.” 

“Well, then, we owe our gratitude to you,” says Jared, standing to shake the Soul’s hand, a gesture that not only surprises Nancy herself, but also most of the customers on the restaurant. Oblivious to it all, Jamie, Mel and Ian all stand up in turn to shake Nancy’s hand. 

“It’s so nice of you to give Nancy her old life back,” says Mel. 

“We understand it can’t be easy to leave the place you call home,” says Ian. 

“The Earth was Nancy’s home way earlier than it was mine,” replies the Soul. “It feels only natural to give it back to her, if I’m able to go somewhere else.” 

“Where did you live before the Earth?” I ask, what I consider to be my obligatory question every time we talk to a Soul who’s decided to leave the Earth because of me. I always feel the need to make sure those Souls do have a place to go back to--I couldn’t live with myself if they didn’t. But once more, the drop of eyes and nervous smile tell me that Nancy is yet another Soul who was born on Earth and now feels compelled to leave because of me, without knowing what to expect out there. I do hope someone gave her a Solar System 101 lesson before making this decision. 

Ian understands it all too with amazing speed--and does his best to avoid the subject altogether. 

“You said you needed to settle some things. Are you moving cities, or--?” 

“No, I already did. Denver is where Nancy used to live. Actually, her apartment’s right there,” she says, pointing out of the window. We follow her direction till we can pinpoint said apartment, across the street, a third-floor place with views to the road. “It’s just--it’ll be some adjustment for us both. We needed some time to make peace with it all.” 

“Of course,” I say, patting her arm. “You shouldn’t do anything rush.” 

“It’s funny, though--at first Nancy tried to kill me a couple times, and now it almost feels as if she didn’t want me to leave,” chuckles the Soul, despite the shiver that runs down both our spines upon mentioning murder attempts at someone. 

“Talking from experience, I can tell you that’s what it is,” says Mel, pointing at her chest and at me alternatively. “You know our history. At first I hated her guts--but then I couldn’t imagine my life without her. Still can’t.” 

I smile politely and I look down on Nick to hide my blush, guessing what’s coming. As if they’d practiced the speech, Jamie, Jared and Ian both echo Mel’s words--and while they do, I keep my eyes locked on Nick. Then, I change the subject. 

“Listen, we’ll be living nearby for the imminent future,” I say, sending Ian a knowing look, and the man immediately grabs a napkin and a pen and starts writing down his old address. “If you need anything in the next month, or if Nancy needs someone to talk to after you’re gone, please come to us.” 

The Soul grabs the napkin with shaky hands and eyebrows frowned, ready to be another one who tries to decline my offer, but we’re thankfully saved: Mel’s cell phone starts ringing and, dropping everything else, she checks the caller. 

“That’s Maggie.” 

“Done already?” asks Jared, looking at the TV--Jeb’s not on air anymore, then Magnolia and Jeb have finished the talking with everyone. 

“Apparently,” nods Melanie, briefly reading the message they sent her. “They’re having lunch near the TV station--suggest to have coffee there.” 

She looks around, half-standing already, expecting to find everyone’s consent to the idea, when she gets some complaints from the three men on the booth. What with the conversation with Nancy, they haven’t been able to finish their desserts--and knowing we can never put out Jared, Jamie and Ian together, she gives up without a fight and sits down again. 

“Fine,” she scowls, grabbing the phone to let Aunt Maggie know we’re going to be late.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short drabble of Ian and Wanda, on that same night. Because I love these two too much and I wanted to write something fluffy with the two of them

“Goodnight room. Goodnight moon. Goodnight cow jumping over the moon--” 

I’ve memorized the poetic lullaby after reciting it so many times the past few months, but still I read it from the nursery book we got in San Diego, while slowly caressing Nick’s belly, noticing his heavy breathing. I just can’t get enough of putting him to sleep--or dressing him, or feeding him, or practically doing anything with him. Now I know I could never give up motherhood, not even for the sake of a couple million of other Souls. I could never live without Nick, or Ian, for that matter. 

“Goodnight light--” 

Interjecting my reading, Ian kneels by my chair’s side, hugging me by the waist. 

“And goodnight Mommy,” he adds, making me blush and smile--that’s what Nick calls me, and the effect isn’t nearly as cute, though I like the sound of it nonetheless. 

“I’m almost finished,” I whisper, without moving my eyes from the page. 

“No, you’re not even halfway through,” says Ian, proving he knows the poem by heart too, “and he’s sound asleep already. So time for bed for us too.” 

Since I don’t budge from the spot, Ian takes the book from my hands and I complain, too loudly: at once we freeze and stare at Nick. After a couple seconds, when we know he isn’t bound to wake up, we breathe again, and I glare at Ian. Even with him knelt on the floor, he’s almost at my same eye level, and that’s infuriating. 

“Give me the book,” I command, fearing it won’t be enough. 

“Come to bed,” he says. 

“I’ll go to bed when--” 

He doesn’t allow me to finish the question, but locks his lips on mine, effectively shutting me up and cutting off an argument from the start. My hands, that seconds ago were scraping for the book, find themselves grabbing Ian’s shoulders and then moving up to tangle themselves into his hair; Ian, on the other hand, stands, and I move with him while he drags me to the bed, all without breaking the kiss. 

But he moves away once we lay side by side, a grin on his lips. And although I hunger for his hands and lips to be on every inch of my body, I abide by the rules of his game and try to contain myself for a little bit. 

“Now that you’ve got me here, what’re you planning to do?” I ask, hoping he’ll seize this chance--what with Nick and everything else going on, we haven’t had much time to ourselves these past few days. And we wouldn’t mind giving Nick a younger sibling in the imminent future. We’re not in hiding anymore, we don’t live under Jeb’s roof or under his rules anymore, we can start thinking about the future of our family. But for the time being, we need to reunite our whole family--that’s the goal for now. 

Jeb finally had some common sense and declared martial law--making us pick separate rooms when we finally chose a hotel in Denver. He forbade us from taking a single room for all five of us, even when the manager was bound to overlook the rules, but the old man decided he’d had more than enough with our stupidity. And although the distance from Jamie, Mel and to some extent, Jared, is somewhat nerve-wracking for me--we did spend months cramped up all together in our apartment in San Diego--there are _some_ advantages to this arrangement, such as, having a room all to myself and Ian for the night. 

Ian’s grin broadens and he raises a hand. It takes me a minute to move my eyes from his face, caught up in that amazing and natural blue gleam of his, to raise my eyes to see that he’s holding the “Goodnight Moon” book. I burst out laughing and reach out to grab the book, without finding any resistance now. I accept gladly the change of mind--we’re both too tired either way, and back in the caves we never got around to read anything just the two of us--and we settle on the bed, pulling on the blankets, Ian leaning his head on my shoulder, such a domestic picture that I can imagine this scene with Nick, in a few years’ time. The idea brings a smile to my lips as I clear my throat and start reading the poem from the beginning. We both fall asleep before I manage to end it, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Yeah, this was supposed to be a short story, the ending of the series, all fluffy, Ian and Wanda spending time with their son, everyone happy, families reuniting and so on... But I've got so many ideas now that I can't seem to stop writing and I think it's destined to be a bit longer than I expected... 12-15 chapters? I don't know, I guess I'll find out down the line. Hope you enjoy this nonetheless!! Thank you for reading <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning, Ian and Wanda, along with their son and Jeb, enjoy some of the Denver city landmarks.

Perhaps because we went to sleep too early, we wake up too early too, still embracing each other, taking up less than half of the bed--we’re used to using only a small portion of our old bed in the caves, and also in the apartment from San Diego. 

We stir in unison and come to consciousness with broad smiles upon our love being the first thing that catches our eyes. The second is Nick, still sound asleep on his crib; and the third one is the window, to check if our strange feeling was right--and it is. Although it’s not pitch dark outside still, the sun isn’t dawning just yet. And we both know there’s no going back to sleep for either of us. Back in the caves, Jeb didn’t allow lagging people slacking off job, unless they had one hell of an excuse--illness, severe injury, or they’d just returned from a long raid. And back in San Diego, I had to wake up early seven days a week for my classes, so Ian, although he couldn’t join me for most of the semester, took upon himself to share our sleeping schedules. At the end, in a mutual silent agreement, we both nod and get out of the bed to get dressed to shower--taking up some time and water, since we share the shower and can’t stop ourselves from playing a bit--and get dressed. 

Very carefully we take Nick from his crib and head downstairs, not at all surprised to see the common dining room is already opened and prepared with the usual self-service buffet. The element that does surprise us, however, is finding Jeb down there, a mug of coffee in one hand, reading a newspapers. I don’t know why he bothers, however: everything he might find in there is the kind of news humans used to hate when Souls were first in charge of the papers. All happy news, no mention of disasters or anything alike. It’s not just our way of managing; it’s just that there are no bad news to report. 

“Morning, you two,” he greets us without the slightest surprise on his voice, as we enter the room. “Isn’t it a bit too early?” 

“Could ask you the same,” says Ian, raising one eyebrow. 

“I’ve always been a light sleeper,” chuckles Jeb, moving his coffee mug to invite us into the dining room. Ian motions for me to sit down on the table with Nick and Jeb while he prepares our breakfast; I don’t complain this time. “What’s your excuse?” 

“Went to bed too early,” I confess, gladly accepting the coffee Ian hands me. 

“What do you want, buddy? There’re bananas and apples.” Ian asks Nick, pretending that he actually has a say on the matter. 

“Apple,” says Nick after a two-second deliberation. 

“Coming right up,” nods Ian. “And perhaps a couple toasts, with butter and marmalade?” 

“Yes!” Nick accepts gladly. His father leans in to mess with his hair and I kiss his cheek too. 

“What do we say to Daddy?” I ask before Ian disappears with our little prince’s demands--generosity is something this newborn human baby will soon learn from me. 

“Thank you, Daddy,” complies Nick. 

“My pleasure,” says Ian. He winks at me and then leaves to get all our breakfasts, and so I get back to my previous conversation with Jeb. 

“Does this happen to every first-time parent? Going to sleep ‘round the same time as the baby himself?” I ask Jeb, resuming our previous conversation. 

“I honestly couldn’t tell you,” says Jeb, “but I don’t think that’s the worse crime you could commit as first-time parents.” 

I can’t help but nod, guessing Jeb’s right--we could be doing much worse than we are, giving the circumstances we’re living. Although, truth be told, it’s not only on the both of us, since we’re getting a lot of help with Nick from all the members of our family. As a matter of fact, after breakfast, when we suggest to go out for a walk, Jeb decides to join us, only to have some time alone with Nick--and we wouldn’t have had it any other way, we just can’t have him apart from us for too long. He walks with Nick some feet behind us, playing with his favorite car unaccurately pretending it to be a plane that lands time and time again on the toddler’s head--not that any of them cares for accuracy, as Nick laughs in delight every time without fail. 

Ian and I walk hand in hand some feet in front of Jeb and our baby, appreciating someone taking care of Nick so we can have some minutes to ourselves. Meanwhile, I let Ian lead the way and drag the three of us around the city he’s starting to remember, pointing out some particular spot and explaining a particular memory associated with it--he once lost a couple bucks his mother had given him to buy an ice-cream and the owner of said ice-cream parlor gave him a Cornetto for free--and many others. Nick more or less listens to his father, but I know he doesn’t understand much of his talking; he doesn’t understand the time he’s got to live. We probably should have invited Kyle to this journey through their childhood memories, but we both chuckle at that idea; that would have been a marvelous way of losing both our heads, trying to wake him up this early in the morning. 

We barely pass by half a dozen people in our walk; it’s just too early. The streets and the parks are almost to our own, which kind of makes sense, in a way, when Ian’s trying to reminiscence his childhood town. Almost one hour and a half after leaving the hotel, we reach Denver’s Botanical Garden, at the York Street, which according to our hotel’s manager is only thirty minutes away from the hotel--but I don’t say a word, happy to see Ian happy in the streets that he used to walk down at. 

“Morning, Wanderer. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the male guard greets me as we approach the front gate. 

I blush and drop my eyes to the floor, still not used at someone knowing me when I don’t know them. Another woman Soul joins him--they’re dressed as security guards out of formality, but that’s not exactly their job description here--that’s why I know we can talk to them and reach an understanding. 

The male guard’s name’s Michael, and Lisbon’s the female’s, and he’s scheduled to leave for the Singing World in three weeks’ time, whereas she’s staying here on Earth for the time being. We explain our situation and out of consideration for Ian, Michael lets us through, even if it’s two hours till opening; we’re all for exceptions, redemption and forgiveness these days. He opens the doors for us, sending some looks filled with pity towards Ian. They both offer their services as tour guides throughout the Garden. True to their word, they only join us in our walk, chatting easily some feet before us, giving the four of us some privacy and all the time in the world to see the Botanical Garden in our own time. The only reasons why Ian finds himself comfortable with confessing his feelings out loud. 

“You’re right, I can’t stand this,” he says. “I don’t want them to pity me.” 

“That’s who we are,” I say, and I don’t have to be more accurate for him to understand that by ‘we’ I meant us the Souls. 

“Well, you can all stop it now,” scowls Ian. “We’ve been talking about this for months--please stop feeling guilty.” 

“That’s like asking the rain not to get you wet,” I reply. “You can’t ask us to change who we are.” 

He exhales deeply, closing his eyes briefly in an attempt not to get angry on this issue again. 

“No, I wouldn’t ask you that,” he says in the end. “But I can ask you, like the rest of us, to move on. We humans are trying and for the most part, succeeding. You are better than us--why can’t you do the same too?” 

I’m not given the chance to answer that question, since some feet before us, Michael and Lisbon come to a halt and turn around to face us, big grins on their faces. When I see the Garden behind them I’m at a loss for words--the sight is more impressive than Ian had warned me. Perhaps he didn’t even remember it all himself, or perhaps Souls have remodeled these Botanic Gardens to a point that don’t resemble what Ian used to know. Either way, I hadn’t expected the amazing view in front of me that stretches like a natural-shaped lake. 

“Mommy, look!” squeals Nick in delight--he can’t pinpoint what to look exactly, but I understand his meaning. Back in the caves in the Arizona dessert, he didn’t get the chance to observe a picture such as the one in front of us, nor the fauna or the lakes. I kneel by his side and point some of the stuff Michael’s explaining. 

Michael keeps talking about the plants that we can see from where we’re standing, but unfortunately I’m too caught up with my surroundings that I can barely understand his words. Ian seems as flabbergasted as I am, and also does Jeb, who looks as proud as if he were showing us the caves--I pity the fact that Nick won’t probably remember this visit, nor remember the importance of it, although he’ll have all the time in the world to come back here. 

Admiring the world that we can now truly enjoy, the world Nick’s generation can know and grow old into without the presence of enemies, I hear a loud bang behind me. I’ve only heard the noise twice before--but I recognize it immediately, cold sweat dripping from my forehead and back as I freeze, Nick’s brawls putting me even more on edge. 

I turn around, knelt on the floor, as Ian holds me by the arms, thanking, for once, Jamie’s absence. I see Jeb protecting Nick by taking him away--the old man won’t do anything stupid that could endanger our son’s life. Meanwhile, Lisbon’s ran off screaming... And I realize Michael was the target. He’s on the floor, eyes open, a stream of blood dripping from the injury on his stomach. The gun that’s fired the shot, still steaming from the canyon, was aimed directly at him--held by a human being. 

“NO!” I shriek, dashing forwards before anyone can stop me, although Ian certainly tries, as he attempted to drag me out of there. But I don’t head straight for the human and that move is, probably, the only reason why I don’t get a bullet on my brain too and I fall to the ground by Michael’s side. 

“SEIZE HIM!!” I pray, though I needn’t to--Jeb and Ian are already surrounding the man, hands in the air, begging him not to shoot at us again. 

“Have you all gone completely mad?! I come out of the bunker and see you’re with them?! Are you Souls too?!” 

“Drop the gun and we’ll explain!!” orders Ian--and somehow it works. Flabbergasted, eyeing with eyebrows frowned the Soul he’s just shot at, the man drops his weapon. At once he’s pinned on the floor by both Jeb and Ian--I can’t see where Nick is, but I know he’s safe. 

“Where in the world did he get a gun?!” demands Jeb, who’s probably wishing to have his rifle with him right about now. 

“Calm down!” Ian begs the man, who’s struggling against them.

I barely hear them, I’m too concerned for Michael. He’s breathing heavily, he can barely move, he can’t utter two coherent words in a row and, more troublesome, the gleam on his eyes is vanishing quickly. 

_“Help, please!”_

The despair is plain in my plea; at once, after making sure Jeb can handle the perpatrator, Ian kneels by my side, checking Michael’s pulse. By the look on his face I know it’s not good news. I check Michael’s eyes again and I whimper loudly--Michael’s heart’s still beating, but the gleam has finally vanished. The Soul inside of him has perished.

“What can we do?” I beg. 

“I’m not Doc,” he scoffs, his voice low and frantic. “And I doubt he’d be able to do something in these circumstances.” 

“The human might still be alive!” I shriek. 

“What?! It’s not like I can do anything to forgo a surgery!” 

There’s another set of footsteps and I realize Lisbon’s come back. She’s handed something to Jeb in order to tie up the shooter and both the female Soul and the old man are surrounding us too, suggesting our options. 

“I’m calling the Healers,” says Lisbon, cellphone in her hand. 

“They won’t get here in time,” scowls Jeb. 

“We can save the body!” I shriek. 

“Wanderer, think for a sec--” 

“He doesn’t have a second, look at him!” I interject Ian, even when I know he was just trying to reason with me. And then he gives up, letting out a desperate shriek. 

“What do you want me to do?!” 

It takes me only two seconds to come up with an idea--and I’m not budging this time. 

“Insert me inside his body,” I order, for once my voice even and calm. 

“ _NO,_ ” scowl the four people surrounding me. 

“That’s insane,” adds Ian, rolling his eyes, not even considering my offer. 

“My body’s completely healthy, you could keep it without medical attention for a few hours, at least. He won’t last that long. But with me in there, we can preserve his body long enough!” I try to reason. 

“Wanda, we don’t have the instruments for an extraction and an insertion! It could kill you both!” 

“You don’t know unless you try it!” 

“No one will try nothing of that sort!” Ian replies, eyeing Jeb and Lisbon as well as to make sure they don’t move a finger to do what I’m suggesting. 

“Come on, Ian! Just do it like you’d do in the caves. You performed extractions back in the day!” 

“I refuse,” he says flatly, as if giving me no room for arguing. 

“We vowed to save everyone’s lives on Earth, Ian!” 

“Not risking yours in the process!” 

Jeb tries to butt in, at a bad time. “Wanda, sweetie, we might have to--” 

“ _NO MORE LOSSES!_ That’s what we agreed on! Not a Soul, not another human being! Murder was over! And if we have a chance to--” 

“The chances that we can save him. . . are one in a billion--maybe less.” 

“I’m willing to take it.” 

“I know you do. I’m not.” 

“For the--” 

Giving up on the argument, but not on my idea, turn around, grab Ian’s leg, raise his right leg trousers to see the socks--out of habit he carries around a pocket knife there. It’s not clean, not very sharp or deep, but it’ll have to do. Except for the culprit, these days it’s not easy to come by a weapon. For once, he’s not fast enough and when he tries to grab my arm I’ve already got the knife on my hands. 

“Wanderer--” Ian starts menacingly, knowing now what I’m planning, but I don’t let him finish. 

“There’s no time to waste--I’ll do it myself if I have to, but I’ll pass out. Just promise you’ll forgo the full procedure.” 

“I--I can’t, Wanda--” he begs, eyeing the knife instead of my eyes. 

“Promise ME!” 

I’ve got the edge of the knife on the corner of my neck--a bit of pressure and a drop of blood slips, falling down my neck, collar bone, staining my blouse. I take a shaking intake of breath and I see Ian closing his eyes in defeat--they can’t stand it anymore than I can. 

“Lie down on the floor,” orders Jeb solemnly, taking charge as I knew he would, not letting personal emotions get in the way of reason. “Keep pressure on the wound--prevent blood loss.” 

“Wanda, you’re crazy,” scowls Ian, as I obey, laying by Michael’s body, on the grass. Jeb takes the knife from my hands before I do something stupid and dashes towards the closest lake--it takes me a minute to realize he’s just trying to clean the blade instead of getting rid of the weapon and avoid a particular stupid procedure. 

“Can you think of any other way to save him?” I demand coldly, staying flat on the ground. 

“No, but--”

“Then shut up.” 

“Wanderer, please don’t do this. If something goes wrong--” begs Lisbon when Jeb comes back, wiping the knife and his hands with his T-shirt, though she realizes it’s a lost cause too. 

“Healers will be here any minute now--it won’t be long. See you in a bit. Ian, do it; do it now.” 

He takes the knife off of Jeb’s hands; if someone’s gotta do it, better to be him. He kneels by my side and looks at me in the eye, wishing I’d back down. Someone hands me a napkin and I open my lips, allowing Jeb to stuff it deep into my mouth. Then I notice Ian’s hands on my neck, cold, although the man’s dripping sweat from his forehead and back, and I nod for him to start. 

I thought misery and pain had ceased with us Souls coming to terms with humans. That ahead of us we’d only find happiness and joy. But boy, was I wrong. Doing this procedure without No-Pain or any painkillers whatsoever is worse than I’d imagined--soon I’m begging to pass out. I thank the napkin stuffed deep in my mouth--prevents the worse cries to escape my lips. The hands I’m holding on to for support soon enough are pinning me down so as not to let me struggle and make it even more difficult for Ian. I can barely hear Jeb’s encouraging words that try to help me through it. 

“Have courage, Wanda. You can do this. You’re strong. You’ll survive this,” he repeats over and over again, perhaps trying to convince Ian too in the process. 

 

**********************************************

I’m barely awake when I notice I’m in a new Host and I remember the task at my hands, the life that I’m supposed to save. I stretch as much and as fast as I can, trying to make all the connections in record time. But I feel it’s a lost battle; I sense I can’t make it. Some of those connections are too weak to start with and vanish within seconds; others, I can’t reattach the nerves to start with. And those bonds I manage to make, I only obtain horrible pain signals from the severe injury on my stomach that I can’t stand at the present moment. The struggle for me, the small creature in the back of the brain, is too great, I can’t handle it, not without a fully operational host. I can sense his life slipping away from me, the longer I stay inside of him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermaths of the emergency extraction and insertion and Wanda waking up in a hospital to more than one surprise

Multiple times do I briefly come out of consciousness to succumb only seconds later to the painkillers and other drugs I’m under. Sometimes I’ve only got the time to raise a finger, or to move my lips without any words coming out--changes too insignificant to be noticed by whomever’s looking after me. In one occasion I manage to open my eyes and after I realize I see nothing but a blank wall, no figures or other colors, I let go instantly, too afraid of what’s going on with me, if I actually managed to hurt myself by my crazy attempt. 

Thanks to the struggle of trying to connect with yet another Host and the drugs, I come to one simple conclusion: I hate hospitals. I was only supposed to be at a hospital when/if I decided to give birth at some point of my existence, should I live a healthy life. But I’ve visited too many hospitals since landing here on Earth; I plan to put a stop to it the sooner the better. 

Finally I manage to open my eyes and discern that I am indeed in a hospital room. My senses are also coming back to me--I hear a whispered conversation and distant footsteps, and I smell food close by. I guess they’ve put me an IV for me not to feel famished even though I’ve got an empty stomach. 

Just a formality, I test my body, shifting on the bed, cautiously moving my extremities, stretching each of my toes and fingers, then the ankles and wrists, to move on with my knees and elbows. I feel mostly fine, only a bit dizzy--that’s why I don’t try, for the time being, to stand. The check-up confirms my worst nightmares: I couldn’t save John. I’d still be on his body. But, as far as I tell, I’m once again inside a female Host. 

“Hey,” I try to speak up, my voice hoarse, my throat completely dry. 

Me speaking finally catches Ian’s attention--he was speaking over the phone at the other side of the room, probably trying not to be a nuisance for my recovery. As soon as he sees me awake, the deep frown between his eyebrows disappears to be replaced by one relieved smile. 

“Oh, thank God,” he whispers, half on the phone, half addressing me, and then talks to the person on the other side of the line. “She’s awake. Yes, Wanda, she’s woken up. I’m sorry--gotta go. Yeah, thanks. I’ll contact you later. Yeah, love you too. Bye.” 

He practically spoke the last words without waiting for an answer from the other side, before he hangs up the phone and reaches the room’s entrance in two long strides. He only opens the door for a brief two seconds to yell a single word: 

“Nurse!!” he calls out, louder and ruder than it’s appropriate in a Healing Center. But then, leaving the door open, he dashes towards the bed. Such is his excitement and relief to see me conscious that he sits by my side and I know he has to contain himself from hugging me tightly. 

“Hey,” he greets me, leaning in to kiss me on the forehead. Before I have to ask, he fills a plastic cup with water from a jar and hands it to me--I drink the full content of the glass in one sip, but refuse another. 

By then, two nurses and two Healers have entered the room--relief hovering in the air from seeing me awake at last. At their orders, Ian steps away from the bed, giving them space in order to run some checks on me to assess my well-being. As was to be expected, of course, all the results are satisfactory. 

“So I’m back in Pet’s body,” I summarize. 

Ian’s frown reappears, but he’s quick enough to erase that worried look and he tilts his head at me, one of his gestures when he’s about to sugarcoat things. 

“You don’t have to--” 

“John’s dead, isn’t he?” I demand. 

Nor the Healers or Ian answer the easy enough question immediately, but rather, exchange one meaningful look with Ian, whose smug expression’s vanished all of a sudden, and he’s come to stand by the Healers. 

“His name was Michael,” says Ian very slowly. 

I frown--Michael rings a bell too, but I was pretty sure I’d gotten the name right. 

“Are--Are you sure?” I ask very slowly. 

“He introduced himself as Michael, back at the Botanic Gardens. And Lisbon, the other Soul, can vouch for his name too,” says Ian. While he speaks, my mind’s so far away from his words--trying to go back to the time I spent within the Host’s brain, which isn’t an easy task, because it brings back so many memories of the agonizing pain the man was suffering. 

“No, that’s not right,” I say, very slowly, shaking my head from one side to the other. “I think that’s the name the Soul chose when he got to the Earth and got inserted into that Host. The human’s birth name was John,” I finish, a bit more certain of my words now. 

“Are you sure?” asks Ian in return. 

“As sure as I can be after the brief meeting I had with that human’s mind,” I reply, a bit coldly, because I honestly can’t be positive of what I’m saying. All I know is, Michael doesn’t feel right when I try to think of the Host I briefly inhabited, and John does. “Doesn’t make much of a difference now, does it?” 

“It makes all the difference,” says Ian, caressing my hand. “At least we know his name.” 

He doesn’t need to say the words for me to understand the true meaning of those; at least the human won’t have died anonymously, at least we’ll be able to bury him with a proper named gravestone. That’s something--that’s everything. 

“We see then that you remember the circumstances that brought you here,” resumes one of the Healers. 

“Yes, I do.” 

“Are you in any pain? Dizziness? Distress? Memories that don’t belong to you?” 

I think for a second before giving my answers. “No to the first three questions, yes to the the fourth,” I say. “I got glimpses to John’s past lives. I don’t think I can erase them from my mind that easily.” 

While the nurses write that down, one of the Healers clears his throat loudly and the other, a female, drops her eyes to the ground. I recognize the human emotions--discomfort, nervousness, despite, regret--and frown. Those aren’t feelings one wants to see from one’s doctors. 

“What--is going on?” I demand. 

Ian sitting on the bed and takes my hands again doesn’t soothe me, no matter how much he hoped it would. I glare at the Healers and the female doctor finally speaks up. 

“We probably are to blame for that,” she says. “We kept you within the Host’s body for too long--” 

“You were just hoping that I’d manage to save him,” I interject her. I’d have done the same had I been in their shoes--kept myself inside John’s mind for a month, if necessary, until I saw with my own two eyes that there was nothing to be done for the human. “I don’t blame you, Healer, not at all.” 

“Maybe you should,” she whispers, crestfallen attitude. 

“No, I shan’t,” I promise, a strange fierce in my voice. “No Soul could hold a grudge against any of you for what you did--much less myself. Please, be at peace. 

“Speaking of which, how much time did I spend inside of John’s mind?” 

“Six days,” Ian answers me before the Healers try to conceal that information from me. “They inserted you back into Pet’s body yesterday morning. The meds kept you under for twenty-four more hours.” 

“A whole week?!” I shriek. This time, not Ian, nor a force on Earth, are able to keep me on the bed any longer. Before they manage to stop me, I get to sit, draw away the blankets and my feet touch the cold floor. “But--where’s Nick? Where’re Mel and Jamie? What’s happened?!” I demand while they push me back on the bed. 

Seven days was all it took for Branson to get to his hometown and find his sisters and find out he’d become an uncle; the same period of time it took Lucina to meet her husband at the apartment they used to share and introduce him to his daugthers; and in those same seven days, Lily found a couple of clues to follow in order to track down her mother and aunt, who she used to live with back in the day. Nowadays, a week can mean all the difference in the world. Lives could have changed during these past days--and I’m sure they have changed. A part of me regrets my earlier words, when I said I didn’t mind the amount of time they’d left me inside of John’s body. At the same time, I can understand now why my sister and my little brother aren’t here with me, which was kind of what I’d expected--they’re certainly far away from here, tracking down their own families. Can’t really blame them. 

“Slow down, I’ll explain everything,” says Ian. I know what he’s expecting: me to settle down on the bed before any explanations may begin. Taking in a very deep breat of air, I comply, laying on the bed and drawing back the blankets--but then I address the Healers. 

“Thank you for your work--I wouldn’t want to keep you from your duties,” I say. 

Although I was nothing but polite, the Healers understand my words perfectly: I’m dismissing them from my room. Bowing their heads a little, the two Healers and the two nurses leave without saying another word. 

Then I face Ian, my face proving I will not drop the subject till I get all the answers I seek. He exhales and gets comfortable on the bed by my side. 

“Melanie, Jamie and Jared are in New York,” he starts, “tracking off Jared’s family. Last I knew, Jeb was in Kansas City, Missouri. At least he’ll appear on TV tonight from a station there--perhaps he’s already on the road again. As for Kyle, he’s with Sunny, tracking down Mom. They’re cuerrently in Vancouver, Washington. The rest of the family’s fine too--please don’t make me report on all of them.” 

His attempt at joking doesn’t manage to amuse me; I hit his arm, trying to jokingly push him out of the bed, but he barely notices the blow. 

“Lastly, Nick is alright. He’s being taken care of by... My Dad.” 

That freezes me on the spot. A week is long enough for Ian and Kyle to track down and meet their father, at long last. Not only that--enough to get so back in track that he’s been left alone with his grandson. 

I can’t help but chuckle. “Guess it’s going to be confusing from now on? Two Nick in the family?” 

He answers me in kind. 

“I think if we say ‘Nick needs to poop’ we’ll know which Nicholas we’re talking about,” he says, prompting me to burst out laughing. My lack of decorum is only due to the fact that we’re all alone, because I’m being too loud considering I’m staying at a public Healing center. “Plus, we’ve never called our son Nicholas, so it’ll be alright, I imagine.” 

“Oh man, I can’t believe your father met me like this,” I scowl afterwards, making an attempt to look at me objectively, from a parent’s eyes. I already know I look hideous in a hospital gown, but I haven’t taken a shower in a week and my hair’s a complete mess. 

However, Ian takes my chin, as not to let me finish that examination, and looks right into my eyes. 

“Don’t be stupid. He saw you for what you are--an incredible Soul willing to do whatever’s necessary to save the life of a man who, in other circumstances, might have tried to kill you for what you are. That’s quite the testimonial he read, even before he got to know you.” 

I certainly appreciate Ian’s words, that soothe me more than I can confess, but I realize at the same time the underlying meaning of his words. I repay him, grabbing his cheeks so he doesn’t avoid my eyes either. 

“Do we need to talk about what I did?” I ask very slowly. 

For some seconds, I believe the answer’s bound to be ‘Yes’ and I fear the upcoming nightmare into trying to reason with Ian--a feat almost impossible to achieve. But to my surprise, Ian ends up exhaling and scoffing, his usual answers when he gives up on a subject altogether. 

“I wouldn’t be much of a boyfriend, or a gentleman, if I engaged this debate _yet again_ ,” he scowls slowly. “I suppose I know who you are, Wanda, but everyday you manage to surprise me by giving me a heart attack. The Healers almost convinced me into hospitalizing me for a nervous breakdown, you know.” 

Once more, I have a hard time grasping the humor in Ian’s sentence, and so I pretend it was meant as a joke and shift the conversation into an easier and more amiable the subject instead of dwelling on it. 

“So, does that mean a formal family dinner tonight? With Kyle and Sunny? Perhaps we could stop by the shopping mall on our way home, so I can get a dress--” 

From Ian’s non-verbal response, I gather the answer’s a ‘No’ and I stop babbling, hoping he’ll be straight out with it. He grabs my hands and kisses my fingers with tender, a smug smile playing on his lips. 

“That’s not the plan exactly, my dearest Wanderer.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda meets Nicholas Senior and learns about his story

“So, Jamie, how’s it going?” 

“It’s _amazing_ , Wanda! Today we climbed the Empire State as a farewell and the view was AWESOME! Wish you could be here.” 

“Me too, honey,” I say with honest regret in my voice, however diminished because of the chuckle that escapes my lips. By the bed, Ian, who can perfectly hear Jamie’s enthusiastic voice, has rolled his eyes--he doesn’t wish to be with Jamie for a little while longer. I can tell that Jared and Mel are looking forward a break too, although they would never confess so. 

“BTW--did you know there was a human cell hiding in Atlantic City?” Jamie continues babbling, without letting Jared or Melanie put in a single word, even though we’re on speakerphone. “A whole human cell--all fourteen people--hiding nearby casinos, beaches and boardwalks. Can you imagine?” 

“Yes, I heard something about it,” I say. 

“Man, I wish we’d ended up in Atlantic City,” sighs Jamie. 

“Hey, it wasn’t a holiday for neither one of those people,” Jared reminds him coldly. “They couldn’t exactly enjoy the casinos and the good weather.” 

“Yeah, suppose that’s right,” whispers Jamie. 

“Without mentioning casinos nowadays aren’t probably what you remember,” I chuckle. 

“Given the fact that neither of us was old enough to gamble before the Apocalypse, I should hope not,” scowls Melanie, prompting a chuckle from everyone listening. 

“Hey, listen, how’s it going with your family, Jared?” I ask before Jamie gets us even more off track, since that was the question I wanted answered from the beginning. 

“No luck, for now,” says Jamie, naïvely, without realizing I expected Jared’s answer. 

“We’ve got a few more addresses to check,” says the man finally, “I’m not giving up hope.” 

“Good, because you shouldn’t,” I praise. “And have you contacted the local government for help?” 

There’s a very deep sigh coming from the other side of the line. 

“Yes, Wanda, that’s the first thing we did when we got to NYC--you told us weeks ago,” complains Melanie, not as exhausted and fired up as it might seem. “Although, you Souls aren’t as good as you thought where public records are concerned. There’s a fearsome lack of coherence.” 

“Sorry,” I whisper, even when I know I’m not directly to blame for it. But keeping record of the goings and comings of Souls in and out of this Planet wasn’t a priority, not even in the first days of the invasion--we never thought humans would want to consult those records some day to know where their families spread. 

Luckily, I’m saved from apologizing again and again for the next minutes, and at the same time, I’m deprived from at least fifteen more minutes of random conversation with Jamie--someone knocks on the door and a man who can be but Nicholas Senior comes in, a bit weary of his surroundings and of the patient in the room. He’s also brought Nicholas Junior with him, which makes me instantly forget how to think and how to speak--I’ve missed my son too much. 

“Mommy!” he yells upon seeing me--and I’m already opening my arms to receive him. 

My first impression is that Nicholas Senior is older than I’d imagined, and furthermore, he’s a walking image of Kyle, except the years have taken a toll on him and he’s not as muscular or fit as his oldest son, and eyes everything with a tired, sullen look. I understand, as he steps into the room, that he’s watching there’re no more Souls around, and the means of escaping from the room, which narrow down to only the door. Ian hasn’t yet told me what happened between the two brothers and the father for them to get separated while running away from the Souls--but whatever it is, I can see it weighs heavily on Nicholas’s shoulders. Plus, by the looks of it, I fear me being a Soul could be a deal breaker between the two. 

Only Jamie’s babbling hammering into my ear make me come back to the present. 

“Listen, guys, I got to go,” I bid farewell without moving my eyes from Nicholas and my son. 

“Hold on, Wanda,” begs Melanie before I hang up, “tell us, are you OK? No consequences of your crazy act?” 

“She’s alright, Mel--I wouldn’t let her out of the hospital if she weren’t,” Ian answers for me, knowing a straight answer from him, someone who won’t sugercoat things to make it better for Melanie and the rest, will be better. “But we _do_ have to go.” 

“OK, we’ll let you be,” accepts Mel finally. “Take care.” 

“Good luck! Keep us informed, will you?” 

“Don’t worry. Love you. Bye!” 

Finally I can hang up and greet my father-in-law properly--who, as Ian promised, doesn’t mind at all that he first met me while I was unconscious at a hospital. 

“How are you, my darling?” I then ask Nick, who I know I won’t be able to let go of my arms for a long time to go. 

“I missed you,” he confesses, hugging me. “But grandpa has been teaching me lots!” 

“Has he, now?” I ask, looking up at Nicholas. Upon Ian’s insistence, the man has found himself a seat--his reaction to Nick’s words is non-committed, that is, to chuckle and tilt his head to one side. 

“Innocent stuff, really,” he promises. “Just getting to know each other.” 

We talk for a bit, Nick joining in now and then--about our past lives in the caves, about Nick, and a whole lot other subjects about Ian and I, but I don’t get to know much about Nicholas Senior. He dismisses the questions concerning his life and experiences. 

Until the moment when, after making sure he shut the door, he speaks lowering his voice to a barely audible whisper. 

“So, Wanda, how d’you feel about traveling? The Healers have cleared you, but--” 

“Then why am I still hooked up to this bed?” I demand, glaring at Ian and then looking down on the IVs piercing my skin and wishing to take them all at once. I would, if I had any kind of medical knowledge. Attempting to do so in my current state could do more harm than good. “Get those Healers right now and let’s get out of this hospital at once.” 

As Ian tries to stop me, his father chuckles, finally showing some kind of reaction and emotion to one of my answers. He’s private, that’s also true. 

“It’s OK, there’s no rush, really,” he tries to amend. 

But I’ll have none of it and turn towards Ian, raising one finger to harmlessly threaten him--he and I both know I’d never be able to actually harm him in any way. 

“Go fetch the Healers.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he accepts, trying to hold a laughter for some seconds--till he reaches the door and starts laughing out loud. At least Nicholas and I are left with a relaxed atmosphere that lingers for some seconds, but doesn’t last: the man once more avoids my eye and doesn’t say a word. I guess that’s because Ian left the door open. 

“So. . . What kind of travel plans did you have in mind?” I ask after a couple seconds. 

“Oh, you’ll see.” Coming from anyone else, I wouldn’t have minded that answer--it’d mean a surprise, probably good, one that I’d enjoy. The way Nicholas spoke, it appears as if it was a secret that no-one should know. And maybe that’s exactly it. 

If I hadn’t had my son in my arms, perhaps I would have insisted. But Nick demands my undivided attention and so I only look up when Ian comes back with a nurse, who brings a change of clothes with her. That forces me to give Nick back to his grandfather in order to change, but I demand my son back as soon as my hands are free once more, even if it is to leave him on the floor and let him walk, one hand tight around his wrist. 

Since I’m more concentrated in Nick’s space and wobbling walk, I barely register my surroundings while I follow by the corner of my eye Ian and his father, walking some feet before us. Nothing seems strange until Ian opens a car door for me to enter and only then do I realize we’ve come out to the parking lot. I’m standing in front of a van, with Ian and his father too busy to notice me frozen on the spot, preparing some travel bags and winter clothes for all of us--Ian hands me one for Nick as well, that I will not be putting it on him for the time being. 

“Oh, that excursion starts now?” I demand, glaring at Nicholas, who’s already at the driver’s seat. I have to pull Nick towards me time and time again, because the toddler keeps trying to climb into the truck, only out of curiosity. “Why didn’t you say so?” 

“You said you had no problem with it,” replies the man, motioning for us to get in. His eyes fidget all around, uncomfortable--I understand all too well that he fears all the Souls around the parking lot--and his composure is nothing close to the appropriate one in order to drive a vehicle of these dimensions. 

“And you didn’t say where we are going.” 

There’s a long and tensed moment of silence while Nicholas and I exchange one long, challenging look, which prompts Ian to stop picking stuff from the trunk and go around the car to meet me and Nick--I sigh upon seeing his face. He’s siding with his father. He’s just going to convince me into getting on the road instead of asking some logic questions that I have all the right in the world to know. 

“Come on, move,” I scowl, taking Nick into my arms so I can step into the van. 

He complies by not simply letting us in, but he vanishes to prepare some more stuff. While I strap Nick on his car seat, I take a look around the van. It’s obviously packed for some long journey, with a destination that has nothing to do with our desert in Arizona, and it might take days to get there, considering the amount of food and perishable supplies gathered. I give Nick the book we got him before this whole ordeal with Michael at the Botanic Gardens and wait patiently till Ian’s finished and, wisely, climbs on the back seats, with Nick between us. At that moment, Nicholas starts the engine and we leave the Healing Center without appearing to be the family by blood we are--I can’t help but send now and then funny looks at Nicholas, that he clearly gets by the rearview mirror. 

“I can explain,” he says after some minutes, his voice softer, his composure more relaxed. 

“You could drive under the speed limit, that’d be a start,” I reply coldly. 

The man immediately steps off the gas and I keep on reading the book with Nick, making him participate in the reading--now and then I ask him to point a particular object painted in the pages, and he gets it all right at the first time. Over the book, Ian sends me a look filled with reproach--and at this moment, I can only answer him with shrugging and a roll of eyes. Giving up, Ian turns a bit more to read with us. 

We’re almost halfway through the story when Nick finally falls asleep--which is exactly what I was waiting for. Ian takes the book from me and then drops it on the floor without a care in the world. Before I reprimand him for it, he leans forward and whispers to me: 

“He’s got a lot of sleep to catch up on--he’s missed you,” he says. 

I’m this close to shrug it off, but in the end, I don’t. We can all tell he’s missed me, almost as much as I have missed him, even while being unconscious. In order to move past it, I face the front of the car, now giving Nicholas all the attention he wanted earlier. We’ve long left the city, we’re on who-knows-which interstate--I don’t have time to read the signs. 

“You were saying?” 

“I can explain,” he repeats, and now I hear the hint of remorse on his voice. 

“Are you waiting for my permission?” I ask a few seconds later, when he still hasn’t said a word--a response that gets me a harmless smack on the arm by Ian, and I correspond with sticking my tongue out to him. Childish, I know, because he is acting worse than our eighteen-months-old toddler. “If I ever learn that you knew all about it and didn’t tell me, you’ll be sleeping outside in the cold for a month.” 

Ian immediately retreats back to his seat, knowing, perhaps because of my voice, that the threat is real this time. 

“Are you two done back there?” demands Nicholas in the front seat--someone has to be the adult figure here, I suppose. “Can I start the story or will you act like toddlers the rest of the trip?” 

“Yes, sorry,” says Ian. “Go on, Dad.” 

Nicholas shifts on the seat and still takes a few seconds before he starts talking, addressing his thoughts. 

“Wanderer, dearest, I don’t know if Ian’s told you, but five years ago, I got separated from my two sons when I surrendered myself to the Souls in order to give them a chance at escaping. That was the last I heard from them and vice versa.” 

Nicholas stops talking to take a deep intake of breath. By my side, Ian’s head’s dropped, staring at the van’s floor, holding my hand a bit too tightly. I nod--Ian told me the story one night when we were at the apartment in San Diego and the dream of getting the Earth back to humans and getting in touch with old acquaintances was more than a dream. 

“But they didn’t turn me,” proceeds Nicholas, this turn surprising me greatly. I don’t sense the same feeling coming from Ian, confirming the thought that he’s heard all of it earlier, at least once. Could have warned me. “They didn’t get to put a--” 

“Dad,” Ian interjects rudely. Experience must have told him that his father was about to insult a species they can’t but hate and resent at the moment. 

His father does realize his mistake. Sending me an apologetic look, he clears his throat and resumes once more. 

“I waited till I was safely away from Ian and Kyle and then escaped. I still don’t know how I managed it--they were distracted, I got extremely lucky. But then I had no means of finding those two, and I knew I couldn’t go back to our hideaway, in case it had all been a rouse from the Seekers in order to find my accomplices,” I must refrain myself from rolling my eyes--humans always thought Seekers, and Souls in general, to be much more suspicious and resilient than they ever were. Well, I can count one obvious exception, that’s for sure. “So I was on my own and I went on with my life, hoping against hope that my sons hadn’t been taken in as well. I’ll spare you from hearing an old man’s ancient battle stories,” he chuckles, staring at me through the rearview mirror, “and I’ll just say that I moved cities and lived by scavenging anything I could find, breaking in into unsuspicious Souls’ homes.” Once more, knowing that humans time and time again ravaged Souls’ homes without them ever noticing it, putting the members of both species in danger, brings a shiver to my spine--the casualties amongst Souls and humankind could have been higher than they ever were. 

“Then, about three years after I got separated from Ian and Kyle, I stole this car that belonged to an old, unmarried man. There was a map on the car leading to a cabin up into the woods of Wyoming, near the Alcova lake. I drove up there just out of curiosity--it was mid January and I could have welcomed anywhere to stay at at that point. The old man was certainly a lone wolf and didn’t care much about doing things properly, because he’d gone off and built a cabin at a spot that was pretty much prohibited according to the Reservoir stipulations. But apparently no Soul had dared to fight the cold and the hellish excursion in order to tell that man off. I’ll say, I spent a magnificent winter up there--there were supplies to spare and the cabin had a very modern equipment with central heating and all. 

“But I didn’t just enjoy myself: I knew that when winter ended, the man would show up at the cabin, so I spent that whole winter digging up a tunnel and basically, a secret lair under the house. I worked tirelessly day after day till it became big and comfortable enough for a living, and used whatever means I had--wood from the trees, weaved grass for blankets, and so on. I did a pretty good work, if I may say so myself.” 

“Yeah, OK, Dad, that’s enough medals for one day,” scowls Ian, noticing as well as I did that Nicholas was actually praising his work a bit too much. 

Nicholas chuckles but doesn’t argue the interjection. 

“When winter was over, the man came back and I left the house--I could manage the rest of the year,” he resumes. “The summer of that year I met a man, Jameson, at Riverton town. He found me, actually--trying to fight me over a chicken thrown away by a nearby restaurant. He’d been living in the streets longer than I had and still looked in worse condition than I was in, even when he knew his ways around Rivertown. The answer to the riddle was simple--he was providing for his family, that is, his wife, son and niece. I didn’t think it twice and convinced them into joining me to my hideaway at Alcova lake. We had to make some arrangements and it took us a few more months, but in the end the place was made habitable for four more people, and when I offered, they decided to stay. I cannot tell you what it meant. I finally had someone to talk to, work with, laugh with. Jameson’s son was a bit younger than Ian’s age at the time, but still it almost felt like having a family all over again. In one word, it was magical.” 

“A miracle,” Ian supplies, grabbing my hand, because he also felt like that when he and Kyle found the caves. Not the first time he uses that word to describe the relief and joy they felt at that moment. 

His father nods, accepting the description Ian offered. 

“Yeah, pretty much. Later on, in one of our re-supplying trips, we found Harrison and we invited him to the bunker as well. It meant another adjustment, but we ended up bonding pretty nicely and the six of us were. . . Well, almost happy, I’d say, even when we didn’t alway see eye to eye concering numerous matters of our coexistence. But we had a new life--been together through thick and thin ever since. 

“And that places me a month from now, in Rock Springs, with Harrison. We’d broken into a Soul’s apartment and were having somewhat of a feast when the TV turned on and who we saw on screen but our dearest Wanderer,” I receive his fondest and proudest look through the rearview mirror and I can’t help but smile at his fervor and gratitude, “with an incredibly and unbelievable message addressed to both Souls and humans. I guess it comes as no surprise when I say we had a very hard time trusting the words of a Soul we’d never met, telling us things had changed and that we should come out and meet the mediators.” 

“We believe you,” I chuckle. If I hadn’t prompted it all, I don’t know how my family would have received this piece of news. I still remember when Ian and I joined our family in Arizona, outside of the caves, and had lunch all together in a restaurant--certainly one of my greatest memories here on Earth. 

“Harrison wanted to forget all about it and go back to the bunker in case it was a rouse and our friends were in danger. I disagreed--wanted to check it out. For the first time in one year, we parted each other’s ways. He took the car and headed to lake Alcova and I came back to living in the streets, poking and sniffing around. Something had changed, certainly. The atmosphere was different, there were more people on the streets, their schedules abnormally abandoned, the--Souls were happier than ever, which is saying something,” his statement makes me chuckle again, because he’s completely right: we Souls are joyful by nature, seeing us like that must have been a complete shock for an outsider. “I decided not to trust my gut on that one and drove to Denver and check things for myself. That’s when I found Ian and Kyle’s note hanging out from our apartment’s door and. . . Well, guess you can fill in the rest,” he shrugs in the end. 

I look up at Ian with a broad smile on my lips. Yeah, I can figure out the rest, but I still need to hear the words out loud. That’s why I’m the one to say them. 

“You contacted your sons and they told you that it wasn’t a rouse, that they were safe and sound and that all three of you could meet up anytime without putting your lives in danger.” 

“That we could resume our old lives better than before, with the knowledge you gave us,” Ian goes on with my speech, staring into my eyes, as if we weren’t talking about his father’s story. “And, most importantly, we could gather up to meet our perspective girlfriends, one of which had almost committed suicide on the eve of meeting you.” 

Ian’s final words cause Nicholas to burst out laughing--thank Goodness, he is in complete control of the van, or else I’d have started screaming and woken up Nick. But, whether I like it or not, Ian was entitled to say it. 

“So, that’s where we’re going? Alcova lake?” 

Nicholas nods. “Yes, ma’am. I think it’s time they returned to society too.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda, Ian and Nick join Nicholas up to his shelter in Alcova lake, embarking, unknowingly, into a brand new little mission of theirs...

The next couple hours have no similarities to the first thirty minutes of our road trip. Now that things have been explained and we’re all on the same page, the atmosphere is quite more relaxed and easy-going and I get a glimpse of Nicholas’s character by our endless babble. It does hurt me a little bit that he daren’t to explain things back at the Healing Center, surrounded by Souls, meaning he’s still weary about the whole situation--but I can’t really hold a grudge against him for that. Ian too is more calm and non-chalant out here, free, on an open and even road where they can see from a mile away if someone’s coming for us. And given the weather and the state of the road, wet with snowfall and dangerously icy, we don’t encounter many drivers. 

While we keep on heading north, temperature drops steadily and I thank the few blankets Ian and his father prepared before the journey. I wrap Nick tightly on his baby seat, trying not to wake him up, while we drive through the I-70 and at some point, enter the state of Wyoming, white and nude trees being everything we see through our windows. 

At Saratoga we come to a stop in order to get gas, stretch a bit and let Nicholas have a rest, because he insists in driving himself all the way to the bunker, arguing Ian or I could get lost on the way. Breaking my heart, I wake up Nick and force him to take a walk and go to the loo. We all also change into more suitable clothes and footwear. 

“It’s hot, Mommy,” complains Nick, trying to get off the thick jumper I put him on. 

“You won’t be for much longer,” I promise him, checking he’s well-wrapped up. “It’s very cold outside, honey.” 

We manage to hit the road again with only a tweny-minute delay. According to Nicholas, we’ve gone across one third of the journey already, which is good news, really. I want to go back to Denver and also meet up with Mel, Jamie and Jared as soon as humanly possible. 

Now that Nick’s awake, a deep conversation between the adults is impossible to hold--instead, we heed our toddler’s demands and spend some time singing the children songs we’ve taught him. By the time we stop again, Nicholas has heard the songs so many times that even while driving, he’s able to hum along with us. 

“Alright, lads, here we go,” says the man all of a sudden, killing the engine and opening the front door. 

I look around, letting Nick out of his baby seat with mechanic movements. We’re in the middle of nowhere--nothing distinguishable about the mountains and trees surrounding the car, but even so, Nicholas seems confident about the spot. I guess it’d happen the other way around back in the caves: Nicholas would never find the path, not by chance, in a whole year; whereas Ian and I could find it with our eyes closed. 

“Come on,” says Ian, kissing the back of my neck to prompt me into moving. I hold Nick in my arms and decend the vehicle, noticing I’m almost as mesmerized as my own son by our white and quiet surroundings. He’s never seen anything like this mantle of snow and it’s been too long since I last saw a scenery like the one stretching before my eyes. 

Behind me, I hear Nicholas and Ian struggling with the bags and the preparations, but I can’t join them, even when my selfishness makes me feel pretty bad with myself as a Soul. I kneel and let Nick on the ground, who immediately kneels as well to touch this mantle of snow on his feet. 

“It’s cold!” turns out to be his conclusion after his first experience with snow. 

I chuckle, confirming his words. 

“It’s called snow. D’you like it?” 

“Yes!” chimes Nick. 

Ian’s already by my side, handing me two pairs of gloves before returning to his father and his preparations. I help Nick putting his on and then I grab the tiniest bit amount of snow with my index finger and place it on Nick’s nose. He shrugs it off immediately, although the snow melts too quickly, and instead of complaining, Nick starts chuckling. Following my suit, he grabs a handful of snow and throws it up in the air, creating a small snowfall around us, making us both burst out laughing out of nowhere. I would have kept playing if Nick hadn’t had the idea of running off away from me and the van. 

“Hey, hold on, buddy,” I demand, holding his wrist, trying to swallow the shriek that attempted to escape my lips. “Listen, this is very slippy and dangerous, so stay with me all the time, do you understand? Don’t run away, okay?” 

“I can fall?” he asks, looking down on the snow with different eyes now. 

“Yes, and you could hurt yourself,” I say. “Do not leave my side or your father’s side, okay?” 

Nick looks up at me and nods a couple of times. 

“Yes, do not wander around without telling one of us,” says Nicholas, kneeling in front of his grandson to get the point well-made, “especially now that we’re going to take a walk, okay, buddy?” 

“Okay!” Nick agrees in the end, looking thrilled about exploring the woods further. 

I signal at Ian and he kneels to make sure Nick’s clothes suit him properly for the so-called walk around the woods. In the meantime, I drag Nicholas around the van, so the toddler can’t see nor hear us. 

“Wanderer, we must get going--we need to use the remaining daylight hours,” he says before I can put in a word. And although I reckon he’s right, I can’t let it go. 

“You didn’t say anything about an excursion through the woods,” I argue. “Do I have to remind you that we’re taking a toddler with us?” 

“Dearest, if I didn’t think he could make it, I wouldn’t have let him tag along,” says Nicholas. “From here to the bunker it’s mostly even--it’ll take us two, three hours tops. I know the path by heart, I promise there won’t be any surprises. 

“If you’re uncertain, you can go back if you want, but _I_ am going.” 

Although I have a lot to say and I wish, for the second time today, Nicholas could have been honest with me from the start, I decide against pursuing the argument. I can’t say no to Nicholas, not now, meaning we would have to go our separate ways again--I know Ian can’t handle that, not now. And I hear how Ian’s got Nick all excited about this excursion around the woods, there’s no way I can go back to civilization only with Nick--because I know as well I can’t leave without my baby. All in all, it appears that once more, Nicholas is going to get away with his plan. 

“You better be right about all this,” I scowl while he hands me a backpack. “I don’t want to push my son further than he can go.” 

“Neither do I,” the man replies, “but may I remind you, back in my day, we went into the woods just for fun?” 

“Things have changed, you might have noticed that,” I say, turning to shut the van’s door. Only after three full seconds do I realize my words have been too rude and I may have hurt Nicholas’s feelings, something I’d never forgive myself for. When I turn around, Nicholas is still standing behind me, a hollow look on his eyes. 

“I didn’t--” 

“Don’t apologize, Wanda,” he interjects with the most sullen voice I’ve yet heard him use, “you’re right and I’m probably in the wrong. 

“We should get going.” 

Before another word, he leaves me, goes around the vehicle and joins the excited conversation that Ian and Nick were holding, still concerning the excursion into the woods. We’ve got to keep up the toddler’s motivation before he’s completely jiggered and regrets every minute of it, so I force myself to take a deep breath, plaster a smile on my lips and follow Nicholas as well. 

“Shall we start, then?” I ask when I circle the van. 

“Yes!” three voices answer at the same time, two of adult men, one toddler. 

“We’ll follow granpa, okay?” I say, grabbing Nicholas’s hand while the man in question takes a map and a compass. 

“And we’re going to have a blast,” promises Ian, standing by Nick’s other side. 

I am rather surprised by Nick--he really looks up to the task of walking around the woods. Ian and Nick have been prepping him up excellently and, it is true, most of the road is even. But all in all, I try to make the best of it with Nick and try to distract him at the best of my abilities, first by singing his favorite songs, then by playing some games, such as the I-spy or the linked-words. Unfortunately, those aren’t a good enough distractions and after fourty-five minutes or so Nick and I both give up. The boy looks for something else to entertain him than the white snow, naked trees and uninteresting games from her mother: that is, the unknown gadget grandpa Nicholas’s using. 

We come to a halt as Nicholas kneels on the ground to show the compass to Nick, explaining its basis. 

“Here,” says Ian, handing me his canteen. I lower my head as an appreciative nod and drink without taking my eyes off the two Nicholas. 

“We have to head for South-East for the time being,” Nicholas is telling his grandson. Then he reaches for one of the pockets on his coat and extracts another compass. “Here, why don’t you help me? Make sure I don’t get it wrong?” 

All the O’Shea family members seem to consider the idea a marvelous one, and Nicholas stands while merrily looking down on his grandson, excited by his new toy. I try my best to keep my cool--I really don’t want my father-in-law to dislike me that much, to be honest. So then I kneel before Nick, make sure he’s well-wrapped in his coat, make him drink some water and also make him promise that despite this new, flashing toy, he cannot derray or get separated from us by a distraction. Grudgingly, he promises--and from now on I keep a very close eye at my son. 

The winter air enters our mouths freezing our larynxes and lungs. All that surrounds us is white, and I’d certainly be wandering around, completely lost, if the two Nicholas hadn’t been carrying compasses--even with the footsteps we leave behind, I’d have a hard time returning to our van. If I weren’t a Soul, I’d have somewhat of a bad feeling about all this. 

But on the other hand, however, this excursion through the woods in mid-winter brings me back to the Mists Planet, a world completely covered in snow all throughout its orbital period moving around the Sun, although more than two thousand astronomical units from the heart of the solar system. The cold, the wind, the snowy mountains, whiteness everywhere you look--it saddens me as well as brings back a funny, blue feeling. Nostalgia does that, I guess. This is the first time since I landed on the Earth that I’ve felt so close to another Planet from outer space. With some more time out here, I’m sure that my eyes could start to distinguish the hundred different shades of the color white that I could see in the Mists Planet. 

Despite all of that, my mind doesn’t wander too far from my son for long. We manage to walk for thirty more minutes. At that moment, Ian’s the first to realize Nick’s reached his limit--he drops his backpack and kneels by his son’s side, offering him the canteen. I follow his suit immediately, yelling at Nicholas to stop and looking for the baby carrier inside my back. 

“You’ve done great, buddy,” praises Ian. “Now rest for a bit, OK?” 

Our child is too tired to say a single word, making Ian chuckle, although I only want to strangle his father. Ian takes my backpack from my shoulders and puts the carrier on my back, while I take my time making sure the scarf, gloves and coat wrap Nick up correctly. 

“Hold on,” says Nicholas before we place Nick on the carrier. I look up and see he’s handing me a headlight with strap, small enough to be tied around a child’s head, the LED already turned on. “Just in case.” 

I know he’s right and follow his instructions. Ian puts Nick on the carrier, warning him to grab me at all times--though the pressure is so minimal that I don’t think I’d notice if he’d dropped his hands all of a sudden. But it’s better than anything, I guess. In the meantime, Ian and his father are already taking out more headlights for each of us, and on deep conversation concerning our bags--and come to the conclusion that Ian should carry the backpack I was carrying. 

“You sure?” I ask, grabbing his arm, because I can see that’s too much weight for him. 

“Of course,” promises Ian, buckling the straps around his waist and chest. He then sends me a flashing smile before kissing me on the lips. “You couldn’t carry it, Wanda, and we can’t leave anything behind.” 

He’s right, certainly, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. Not for the first time, I wish I was still inserted inside Mel’s body--she could be carrying Nick along my backpack with no trouble at all. On the other hand, I couldn’t, and I would only slow us down in my attempt. Which is something Nicholas won’t allow to happen, I can tell, now that it’s just us three adults, not when we’ve wasted too much time already. 

“If you two are ready, we really should go,” he says, right on time. 

Ian and I exchange one look and nod at the same time. Then, Nicholas turns around and starts walking, ever faster than before, when we had to accommodate to Nick’s pace. I’m soon out of breath, once more wishing I’d still be in Melanie’s strong body, but Nicholas keeps a demanding pace, with very few stops to rest, eat something and drink water. I realize I am slowing us down, but I understand his point of view, of course: it’s pitch dark soon enough--I have to thank Nick for falling asleep, he’d have nightmares for years on end if he weren’t--and without the headlights and flashlights we carry, we’d have been lost. Nicholas better be right and know this forest like the back of his hand. 

Couple hours later, Nicholas finally comes to a stop. Leaning on Ian to catch my breath, it takes me a minute to see shelter in the middle of the woods, completely covered in snow, camouflaged in the surroundings. I’d completely missed it hadn’t I been with Nicholas. 

“So... We just ring the front door’s bell?” asks Ian, skepticism in his voice. 

His father just rolls his eyes at him and resumes walking. I almost groan--I don’t think I can stand for much longer now. The only thing that forces me to move on is Ian, hugging me and kissing me on the cheek with his frozen cold lips. Such a simple gesture pushes me forward and I’m able to follow Nicholas around the house and then, about two hundred yards later, come to another halt. Once more I have a hard time understanding why we’ve stopped: Nicholas is standing in front of what appears to be a large rock, nothing else. 

When he leans forward and blows the snow covering the so-called rock, I realize that’s not a naturally-formed shaped. It’s a too-perfect square--plus, when I get closer, I see a double wooden door, protected by a chain and a lock. Nicholas knocks three times with his fist, waits, and then knocks two more times--some sort of code he has with his friends. Without waiting for someone from the inside to grant us access, he reaches for a key inside his trousers and unlocks the lock. Ian kneels to push away the chain. 

There’s not a light or a candle lit inside of the shelter, and all we can see thanks to the headlights is a long staircase. Since I only want to rest in a warm place, I have to hold myself from entering the place without permission or a welcome committee. 

“Come on, down the hole you go,” says Nicholas. “Wanderer, you first. Let Ian have Nick, it’s pretty steep and dangerous.” 

I follow Nicholas’ instructions and hand Nick, still sound asleep, to Ian. Nicholas grabs my hand to help me reach the staircase and doesn’t let go till I’ve descended the first few steps. I proceed carefully, heeding Nicholas’ warnings, and thank the headlight I’m wearing. There’s a funny smell and atmosphere, probably caused because of this place being shut for so long during winter without much of a ventilation system. 

Finally I reach the ground and look around, but still I see nothing but darkness--either this place is bigger than I expected, or I’m all but surrounded by walls. Still, no-one in sight. And then I realize that even with my weak body being exhausted, I had absolutely no trouble getting downstairs. 

“Why did you warn me to be careful? Didn’t I just descend a flight of stairs?” I ask, looking up at Nicholas. He stares at me still from the outside, Ian by his side, without meaning to get downstairs, somewhere where the air doesn’t burn their lungs and the snowfall doesn’t impede their vision and accumulate on their heads and shoulders. 

I see it first on Ian’s eyes. His face, his composure, changes all of a sudden while still looking down on me. He tries to stand, but his father stops him and pulls Ian to the ground. I frown at all that, but I’m still a Soul, and my instincts haven’t improved after spending so much time with kind and amiable humans--except for the shooter from a week ago--and so my reaction, or rather, my non-reaction, would have gotten Mel and Ian on their edges. I don’t have time to turn off the headlight, run or climb up the staircase into the world when I notice several hands grabbing me and holding me down on the cold floor. 

“What--?” I can’t even finish that question when I’m gagged by a handkerchief and something similar covers my eyes at the same time. I hear, however, Ian’s distressed voice as they carry me away. They don’t even grant me the chance to say goodbye or to tell him to take care of our baby now that I won’t be around anymore. 

“Wanda! Hey, stop it! Dad, let me go! What the hell are they doing?! _Wanda!!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've taken so long to post this chapter ! what with my new job I don't have much time to write now. But I've planned out the ideas I had in my mind and I think this will be a 20-chapter-long story... So I must ask you to bear with me !!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone copes as best as they can Wanda's imprisonment...

“In the great green room there was a telephone. And a red balloon. And a picture of the cow jumping over the moon. And there were three little bears sitting on chairs. And two little kittens. And a pair of mittens. And a little toy house. And a young mouse. And a comb and a brush and a bowl full of mush. And a quiet old lady who was whispering “hush”. Goodnight room. Goodnight moon. Goodnight cow jumping over the moon. Goodnight light and the red balloon. Goodnight bears. Goodnight chairs. Goodnight kittens and goodnight mittens. Goodnight clocks and goodnight socks. Goodnight little house and goodnight mouse. Goodnight comb and goodnight brush. Goodnight nobody. Goodnight mush. And goodnight to the old lady whispering “hush”. Goodnight stars. Goodnight air. Good night noises everywhere.” 

Me repeating the nursery rhyme I always read to Nick to go to sleep, with a monotonous, tired, distressed voice over and over again isn’t doing anyone any favors, much less myself. The guard outside my room doesn’t appreciate it either, but so far, he’s avoided talking to me directly--he communicates only by scowls and groans and sometimes by kicking on the door. He’s too afraid to speak to me directly or to even step into the room, so at least I have some intimacy. 

The question ‘Why on Earth did I come here’ burns in my head and I can’t put out the fire. I knew these people hadn’t been in touch with the rest of the world--they didn’t know what’s happened out there, the truce between Souls and humans. They’d freak out upon seeing me and those gleamy eyes of mine and they obviously reacted the only way that I could have predicted, had I put my mind to work for more than two seconds: they captured me and intended to kill me. Hadn’t been for Ian, they’d probably have done so by now. I knew I shouldn’t have come. 

Waiting for a death sentence in the midst of a human cell brings me back too many painful memories. They didn’t torture me back in the caves, but I’m not so sure of Ian’s prowess as a mediator this time, trying to talk reason into a family that is not his own. 

They don’t have a cell per se either, but this is a hundred times better than the hole I was put in back in the caves: this is a proper room, with a mattress as a bed, a couple lamps and blankets--but no personal objects and much less, a window to escape through. There’s also a small adjacent bathroom, composed of a toilet and a small sink with running cold water--so at least I won’t dehydrate, and I know I can last for some days without any food. 

At the same time, however, this confinement is a hundred times worse than the last confinement I suffered in the hands of humans--since I’m all alone. Last time I had Mel to talk to and share our fears and prospects of future. Right now, I’m completely on my own, apart from a guard on the other side of the door who won’t address me a single one-syllable word every few hours. 

Or minutes. I really don’t have any means to calculate the time passing by. Perhaps it’s been only some minutes since I was captured by the humans and I last saw Ian and Nick--but I miss them too much. Nick should have had something to eat and then be allowed to rest on a comfy and warm bed, that’s why I can’t help myself from singing the nursery rhyme I should have read him hours, or minutes, ago. I wonder if they actually got my baby to sleep, or if they bothered with him at all. I assume Ian should have taken care of Nick, but I wonder if he could actually fall asleep, considering that he saw his mother being taken away from him and can't possibly understand what in the world is going on in here. Although, on the other hand, I don’t really think they’d be as inhuman as not care for a little toddler--I know I’m being too harsh with the people who’ve locked me up. They’re humans, I they probably wouldn't let my baby starve. Contrary to me, I suppose. 

I groan and sit on the bed, caressing my temples. I can’t put a stop to my thoughts and they’re on a vicious circle on repeat concerning my prospects of future and Nick and Ian. My head hurts--now I wish I were back outside, even with a snowstorm falling. At least I’d be free. And perhaps I’d manage to get back to our van and head straight for Denver, then New York, meet Mel and Jared and Jamie, or at least I’d be with those humans who don’t wish me dead. 

Some footsteps coming drag me out of my precarious state of mind. Whether it is a change of guard or someone here to see me--I hope it’s not Nicholas, because I’ve been preparing myself to kick his ass the moment I see him again--it can be a good change of scenery. The person stops a few meters from my room and I freeze, waiting to hear some words exchanged between my guard and the newcomer. I’d welcome even that. 

“Leave me alone with her.” _Ian!_ I put my hands in front of my mouth to stop my cries--I’ve missed him desperately, even if they told me it’s been minutes since they locked me up in here. 

“Do the others approve?” asks my male guard. 

“Don’t you think I wouldn’t be here if they didn’t?” replies Ian. I have never heard him talk with such fierce and restraint--at least, not in a long time. Back in the caves, when he was, by some miracle, on my side and trying to protect me, he used to speak like this to Jared. I wish I hadn’t forced him to take sides again, against members of his own species, all because of me. 

“Okay, fine. I could do with some food too. And know what the hell you’re discussing,” sighs the guard. 

“I’ll spare you the time--we aren’t killing her.” A long, long time ago, Ian wished to do just that, kill me and get over having me, a Soul, captured--somehow I still feel his rough hands on my neck, trying to choke me. Hearing him now saying such hard words, I barely manage to stop my whimpers, but otherwise I start to shiver uncontrollably. 

“Because you say so?” 

“Because if you got around to talk with her--” 

“That right there, it’s the enemy!” 

By the silence that follows that yell, I know Ian’s doing his best not to lose his temper and attack with words or any other means my guard. 

“Listen, Harrison. I know you think that now, but--”

“How could that thing change your mind so much without even inserting one of those parasites inside of you? What sort of talk--” 

“Okay, I won’t discuss this if you won’t listen. Get the hell out of here.” 

“I mean, what was it?” Harrison keeps talking as if Ian hadn’t said anything. “You impregnated it, a disgusting alien from another species--” 

“Hey, watch it!” Ian yells. 

“--And suddenly you’re smitten with it? Can sex be so good with an alien?” 

Those words cause indignation and a shiver down my spine, but that’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back for Ian. I hear something dropped, someone running, and the noise I can now clearly identify as a fist hitting a nose--I wish I hadn’t learnt that in my existences. A groan, I hope from Harrison, and the two men breathing heavily for some seconds, one astonished, the other really trying to keep his temper. 

“I can’t believe--Who are you?” 

“We’ve been introduced,” scowls Ian. 

“If you’re not with humans, you’re not one of us anymore.” 

“Perhaps its you, who isn’t human anymore, if you’re not willing to listen to a single word we’ve been saying. Now, go fetch the first-aid kit and get my father to fix that.” 

From the sounds I hear, Harrison struggles to get on his feet. “I’ll be back in five minutes.” 

“Make it fifteen and you’ve got a deal,” somehow, Harrison accepts Ian’s suggestion, that can’t even be counted as bargaining. “Leave that right there. And give me the keys.” 

“Not a chance!” explodes Harrison. “So you can let her escape?” 

“There’s no way we’d manage to get outside without all of you noticing,” scowls Ian. “Hey, I’m warning you, I’m willing to fight for them, if you don’t give in.” 

I freeze once more, knowing Harrison, being a human as he is, could be willing to engage into another fight with Ian, even if they’re both the same species. After two very long seconds of deliberation, finally I hear the high and weak sound of a keychain being thrown--guess Ian grabs them mid-air. He doesn’t even thank Harrison and after some more seconds, I hear the guard’s footsteps drawing away. 

Ian doesn’t budge till those footsteps vanish, and then he unlocks the door to my room and enters with a distress and despair I know only too well. Without thinking, I stand and go meet him, hugging him by the neck. 

“Wanderer,” he whispers, hiding his nose on the corner of my neck, within my hair. 

“Oh, Ian,” I whimper in return. I push him away some inches so I can look into his eyes and eye him from head to toes. He seems alright, unhurt, at least, although he’s still wearing the navy plaid shirt from earlier, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows--he should have changed, we all got here sweating and tired. “Are you alright? Is Nick--” 

“He’s fine, I promise. He was sleeping the last time I saw him.” 

“And are you--?” 

“Safe and sound,” he insists before I finish the question. “I bit tired of it all, but that’s it.” 

I know he’s not only talking about the journey up to the shelter--I can bet he’s spent arguing with his father’s family all the time I’ve been locked up inside this room. I can see in his eyes he’s both physically and mentally exhausted and he’s making a great effort not to show it. 

“How long has it been?” 

He doesn’t even need to check the watch. “Three hours since we got here.” 

I nod but say nothing of it. I’m not sure if it’s much more or much less than I’d imagined by my time alone. Ian notices my state of mind and leans to carry me bridal style to the bed. I try to pull him with me, but he raises one finger and takes just two seconds to grab the coat I let slip off my shoulders when they locked me in here--because he realizes I’m shivering. It’s not due to the cold, the heating system works in here as well, surprising as it may be, but I thank the coat and Ian’s arms nevertheless. Embracing each other, we rest against the cold wall. 

“Where have we put ourselves into?” I whimper, leaning on him again. 

“Only our latest adventure,” chuckles Ian, rubbing my back with tender. I chuckle with him, although his words diminish the severity of our situation a whole deal. Well, my situation, rather--he’s safe within a human cell, at least until he kills someone with his bare hands. 

“Seriously,” I scowl, “I wake up after an unsuccessful emergency extraction and insertion and less than twenty-four hours later I’m again in distress. Could I please have a normal week? Is it too much to ask?” 

Ian tries to chuckle, but my voce is close to a sob and realizes I can’t deal with humor right now. Instead, he chooses to kiss me on the forehead and keep on rubbing my back. 

“No, it’s not, dearest Wanderer, and I promise I’ll give you a whole month rest once we’re home.” 

Through my hair, I dare to look up to him. “Will we get back home?” I ask, although I should have made that question in singular tense--he could make it home. 

“Of course we will. Don’t you even think like that.” 

His words are reassuring, but his voice is too fierce, too quick, too desperate--and the rubbing of my back intensifies. He’s not certain of our prospects either. So, this time, he opts to change the subject altogether, raising the hand that was out of my sight till this very moment. And in impossible circumstances, he makes me laugh and jump in joy. I don’t know how he’s smuggled this here, or if it was part of our supplies, but I don’t really have time to investigate the source of origin of this precious Cheeto’s bag. 

“For real?” I ask before I grab a hold of it, getting on my knees on Ian’s lap. 

“Why, of course,” he nods, leaving it on my hands. I open it and try my best not to finish the bag within second or without sharing it--and we settle on the bed, grabbing the snacks in turn. The only subject of conversation we find adequate at the moment is Nick--Ian promises our child’s alright, that he’s, for the moment, completely unaware of what’s going on. I find that really hard to believe when hours ago he saw his mother being taken away by strangers and he hasn’t seen me since then. What sort of explanation could we give him? What had Nicholas in mind to prepare a toddler for this? 

When we’re finished with the snacks, we take turns into the bathroom to wash our hands and drink some water from the sink before settling down on the bed again, covered in a thick blanket to fight the cold. Once we’re on the bed again, and Nick and the food aren’t a priority anymore for either of us, it’s time to get back to the real world. I realize Harrison, the guard, should have come by now--the door’s remained opened and the hall, silent, since Ian got here--guess Nicholas convinced his friends that Ian was enough a guard for me for the time being. 

“So, how bad was it?” I dare to ask, voice weak, fearing the answer. 

Ian’s reaction, taking in a deep breath of air that takes my head up and down since I was resting on his stomach, doesn’t soothe my nerves. 

“Pretty bad,” he reckons in the end. “It’s hard to talk reason to people who aren’t willing to listen.” 

“Should feel right at home,” I try to chuckle, but this time it's nowhere near a joke. I'm openly sobbing. Ian, on the other hand, laughs out loud--his own brother is the most stubborn person he’d ever met in his life. Apart from the people who’re keeping me locked up, that is. 

“Don’t worry. We’ll get through them,” promises him afterwards, pulling me closer to his chest. “We convinced my brother, remember? Plus, Dad brought a DVD player and some of your lectures for them to see. That should convince them, in the end.” 

Although, as usual, I do feel embarrassed by people watching my lectures, I nod at Nicholas’s idea--perhaps that’ll do the trick. But Ian’s last words stay with me: ‘in the end’. They haven’t managed to convince Harrison and the rest to watch those DVDs just yet. Words are only part of the job. One impulse, a bad timing, a slip-off on the guard duty, and it’d be problem solved for one and all. I should remember. I’m not stupid enough to believe that even though we’re in the middle of nowhere and things have changed, these humans don’t own a few weapons that could be used to that effect. 

“Hey. They never said it’d be easy,” says Ian. 

“But we agreed--no more deaths. On either side,” I complain, as if Ian could do anything about it all going wrong. 

“Well, you’re doing everything within your power, Wanda. We can’t ask more of you.” 

“It’s obviously not enough! I couldn’t save John nor Michael--who knows how many stories like that one happen everyday, all around the globe! And to top it all, now--!” 

Before I have to think of the words, Ian pulls me closer, so I rest on his shoulder. And he’s right, I don’t even want to think about it, I don’t want to draw up the words, much less go to the extent of uttering them out loud. 

“Now, we’ll both get out of here on our own free will,” he promises. “Along with Nick. Don’t you worry, I won’t let anything happen to either one of you.” 

A small part of my mind tell me that Ian’s obviously lying to us both about our prospects to make us feel better. I push those thoughts aside and close my eyes, letting Ian involve me with his soothing words, let him occupy all of my senses: I smell his clean clothes, I touch his chest, I taste his lips. He is all I want and all I need. That’s all I’m able to process at the current moment. But, even as I think those words, I know there’s something stopping me. I’ve managed to climb on top of Ian--one of the only situations I qualify to be in charge of--before I come to a halt and quit my kisses. Ian doesn’t complain, as he would have done had we been in any other circumstance, and I can tell he doesn’t regret much my stopping. 

“You thinking the same thing I’m thinking?” I ask slowly. Quite a riddle of a question, but I already know the answer, judging by Ian’s closed eyes. 

“I’m afraid so,” he whispers. He gently pushes me out of his lap and lets me back on my side of the bed, all without opening his eyes still. “I know it shouldn’t have bothered me. But I hope you know, Wanda. . . Physical attraction _isn’t_ what I caught my eye about you. That’s not what made me fall in love with you. I love you for the person _you_ are, your character, the way you see things and talk and--” 

“Yes, I know,” I nod, sending a hand to caress his hair. “Had it been the case, right now you’d be with Mel on this bed, instead of me.” 

He shivers dramatically and does an obscene gesture to prove how appealing that image is to him in reality. That makes me chuckle, but he deserves nevertheless a slap on the arm, because he just made fun of my sister, and we have each other’s backs even when we’re apart--I know that if Jared had done or said something similar while being in New York, a slap isn’t simply what he would have gotten. 

Even though our bodies crave each other, our small attempt at physical attention was nothing but a desperate need for affection from the person we love most in this world. And so we settle on the bed, me using Ian’s shoulder as my pillow, Ian using my head with the same purpose, with the couple blankets over us. Now that I’ve got one of the persons I’m most worried about within my arms, not willing to let him go of my side, much less my sight, for some hours at least, and only because I know Nick’s also safe and sound in this shelter, I let myself rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really trying to post chapters more frequently, I really am ! But these past days I've been busy with writing "Just Deserts", the new The Host fanfic I just posted... Check it out too !! ;)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This tenth chapter is from Ian's POV. Following the story seconds after the last chapter

I hadn’t expected it: Wanda falls asleep amazingly fast, and with a warm smile on her lips. I guess she hasn’t gotten a minute of sleep since she was locked up in this hellhole, even though she could do nothing but wait till she got some news. I haven’t been able to bat an eye since we got here and Dad’s friends took Wanda. 

Very slowly, I free myself from her arms--knowing the movement won’t wake her, luckily. The exhaustion and the lack of need for light sleep due to dominant survival make her able to sleep for hours on end without waking up, unless there’s a very good reason. I make sure she’s well covered in her blankets and leave the room, keys on hand. I know they’ll kill me if I let Wanda unguarded and, knowing I’m a guest here, I close the door and leave the key on the lock, but don’t turn it. Wanda would never escape, even if she tried the door and realized it was unlocked and unguarded. I can handle a scolding. 

Now I’m in the dark and turn on the flashlight Dad lent me. The bunker is way bigger than I’d expected--I thought Dad was exaggerating things a bit while he explained the time and effort they all put in creating this shelter. But it is truly remarkable, close to Jeb’s caves, although I’d never confess so in front of the old man. However this is not a labyrinth like in the caves and Wanda could find the way out easily enough, if she put her mind to it--they’ve locked her up in the bedroom furthest from the entrance, but out of the bedrooms there’s only one hallway that leads to the main room, or living room, and that’s where everyone’s staying at the moment, as far away as possible from Wanda, and she wouldn’t risk encountering all of us. If she knew Nick’s sound asleep in the bedroom next to hers, she’d kick me, for the first time aiming at hurting me. 

Everyone--that is, Jameson, his wife Alicia, their son Gregory, their niece Mary, Harrison and my Dad--are still at the living room, seating around the one table that takes up the majority of the room. There are also some cupboard all around with the dishes and cutlery, plus some books or magazines--reminding me once more of the caves, where our common rooms looked exactly like this, furnished by a miscellaneous of random objects from the past we thought we’d never see back. Without asking permission, I take a seat on one of the empty places, since my father, half optimistic, half mad, made this table able to house ten people. Jameson’s got his niece on his lap, although she looks a bit too old to need that kind of physical assurance, and Alicia keeps rubbing Greg’s back over and over and over again, a gesture that irritates me rather than soothes me. 

“How’s it?” demands Harrison, in front of me. I’ve seen so many broken noses in my life thanks to Kyle and our community in the caves that I can tell, unfortunately, that Harrison’s nose will mend correctly in time. I should have kicked him harder. 

“How’s _she_ ,” I amend immediately, getting groans from up and down the table. “And she’s sleeping, thank you very much for your concern.” 

“I am not concerned for that--” 

“She’s human!” I shriek. 

“That _thing_ is as close to being human as--” 

“Don’t you dare to finish that sentence!” 

“Ian,” Dad scolds me from the end of the table. “Harrison, please, let’s keep this civilized.” 

“He hit me in the first place!” yells Harrison, pointing an accusatory finger at me. 

“Oh, well, pointing fingers-- _that’s_ certainly mature,” I scowl, crossing my arms. 

“Sarcasm and mockery aren’t very mature either, Ian,” Alicia points out. Remembering Greg and little Mary there listening in, I realize Harrison and I are behaving childishly--just as if Kyle were here with me. This is exactly what it felt like those first months at the caves. I never wished to go back to that time, not with Wanda at stake again. 

“Please. Can we talk about it?” begs Dad, very slowly. 

“Haven’t we talked enough?” demands Harrison coldly. 

“No, we haven’t,” I promise him. “We’ll be done talking only when you lot are able to see the truth!” 

“Ian,” once more, Dad’s stern voice raises from the other side of the table. This time, I cross my arms and drop my head, but only so I’m not forced to see Harrison every time I open my eyes. And when he starts talking, I’m amazed that they truly listen to him--guess the fact that he gave a home to each and everyone of these people means a whole deal. “Listen, everyone, please. You know I left Harrison to stay some time amongst the Souls--” 

“Don’t call them Souls,” begs Jameson. 

“That’s their name,” I reply. “The same way you call dolphins, dolphins.” 

Dad rolls his eyes at me--and I can tell he’s not the only one--but resumes talking nevertheless, hoping to get some adult treatment from everyone on the table. 

“--so I could investigate what in the world was going on. And things have changed, guys, I promise you. I saw Souls and humans interact peacefully--in restaurants, cafés, libraries, shops, apartments, parks, cinemas, shopping malls. Share their lives. They were happy, unafraid. Humans weren’t hiding because Souls weren’t pursuing them. I tell you, guys, Souls aren’t our enemy anymore.” 

“How can you even believe that? They stole our Planet! Obliterated us!” shrieks Alicia. 

“You’d believe it too if you were willing to listen,” I implore. I’m getting a glimpse of how those lectures from San Diego’s college went for Wanda and, honestly, they’re exhausting. “They’re not our enemy, they actually aren’t a threat to us--” 

“Are you even aware of how many humans have died since they got here?” demands Jameson. “Or have you been locked up somewhere isolated in the world?” 

“You don’t have to tell me about human losses. We all lost family, close friends and dear ones.” 

My words cause a tense silence around the table--they know I spoke nothing but the turth. However, I won’t ask forgiveness, not this time. They know I’m right. We actually take the minute or so to remember all those people we’ve lost the past years. 

“And they managed that feat en masse. Individually, like Wanderer back there--” 

“Don’t call her--” 

“I’ll call her whatever I want,” I reply rudely. “She as an individual would never hurt you, both because the thought would never cross her mind, even if her life depended on it, and because she knows she’d never be able to actually hurt any of you. And let me tell you, Souls regret dearly each and everyone of those losses. From both sides.” 

“Do those things even have feelings?” asks Mary under her breath, but I hear her perfectly. I do try to keep my temper and not to go out against a teenage girl, although she deserves a full scolding from her uncle and aunt. 

“Have some respect, will you?” I demand. 

“Oh, please, man!” yells Harrison. “Just because you fell in love with--” 

“Watch it,” I say, and this time Harrison hears my warning. He shuts up before he says something out of place and deserves one more punch on the face--which I’m ready to deliver, should anyone wish so. 

“We can’t share your beliefs and feelings overnight, just like magic,” Alicia proceeds, paraphrasing what Harrison was about to say, turning towards Dad. “You say things have changed from before. How is that even possible? Why?” 

“I can only tell you what I saw,” Dad shrugs his shoulders. “I can’t talk on behalf of the Souls.” 

“Then, there’s no tangible proof,” concludes Gregory, in his first intervention of the evening, which infuriates me just as much as any other’s. 

“I spent two weeks in Rock Springs, then Denver, and I assure you, you’d understand if you saw what I saw.” 

“Nicholas, you know we value your help and your point of view,” Jameson starts, slowly, although even Gregory could tell there’s a big ‘but’ coming, “but we cannot risk our lives, what we’ve achieved until now, just for a hunch, or a rumor.” 

“I’m not asking you to,” replies my father, hitting the table. “You wouldn’t be risking anything, because you’re not in danger anymore out there! Souls wouldn’t attack you, not now--rather, they’d invite you into our old community, feed you free of charge--” 

“We don’t want their charity,” scowls Gregory. 

“It’s called kindness, not charity,” I say. “They haven’t just changed our world, they’ve improved it. Money doesn’t exist, so--” 

“Please, Ian, spare us the history lesson,” demands Jameson. 

“Well, you need a history lesson,” I scowl. 

“You have to listen to us,” begs Dad before I say something really rude to the man. “Souls will welcome us back. They’ll help you get in touch with your family and old acquaintances. Get back to your hometown cities.” 

“How do you know?” demands Jameson. 

“ _Why, I’ve seen it!_ ” shrieks Dad, who looks ready to strangle someone. “Things aren’t like what it was when this whole thing began, or all those months since then. There’s nothing like it, really, guys.” 

“But you said you can’t talk on behalf of all the Souls,” remarks Jameson. 

“No, of course not,” grants Dad, a bit calmer this time. “I’ve not met many of them, much less interacted with them, apart from Wanderer. Stop fidgeting, that's her name. But--” 

“Do _you_ speak on behalf all of humankind?” I demand Jameson, rudely interjecting, I am aware, Dad’s next point. “For all the humans still hiding out there? Do you think that because you’re just so afraid and one stubborn piece of idiot, every other human being out there wouldn’t believe this piece of news and will stay in hiding forever?” 

“Well, no, but--” 

“Then, why don’t you at least make an effort to check it out?” 

“Well, it’s decided, then!” says Alicia. “Let’s all go back to a city infested by--” 

“By Souls,” I interject before they insult any further the species the woman I love belongs to. “And really, I didn’t mean you have to leave this shelter of yours based on a rumor, but you could always ask the first-source you’ve got locked up back there.” 

“Talk to that...Thing?” explodes Harrison, standing from the table. “Are you crazy?” 

“So that thing can kill us all one by one, right?” demands Greg, an intervention from one of the kids that finally gets some appropriate scolding from their parents, from Alicia on this instance. 

“You’ve seen her--you could kill her with your bare hands,” I say without looking at him. 

“Please, Ian, if you’d be so kind as not to encourage a manslaughter within this roof. . .” begs Alicia coldly. 

“Would it be manslaughter, though? If the thing’s not even human?” 

“For the love of God!” I shriek. I stand up, knocking down my chair, and lean on the table to face Harrison, unmoved, in front of me. “I’ve had this debate one too many times now for you to say such an atrocity! She’s more human than some people I’ve met in my life, so you will not lay a single finger on her! There will be no killings under this roof! I’ll break all of your fingers if I have to!” 

In the silence of the room, I’m the only one standing and breathing heavily, under the astonished looks of my fellow humankind members, realizing I’d go to unknown lengths if I have to in order to protect one of “them”. What they don’t understand, due to my yells and elevated heartbeat, is that I was just bluffing--Harrison, in a gesture that does not go undetected, hides his hands behind the table, out of my sight. 

In the end, abandoning the threatening posture, I sigh deeply and recover my chair from the floor. I sit a few seats down the table, in order not to be so close to Harrison again. 

“Forgive me. But either way, if you don’t want to talk to Wanda, because that’s her name,” I add upon their scared faces and roll of eyes, “my Dad brought something else that might interest you and might convince you that what we’ve said is true.” 

“Oh, those DVDs? Please,” scowls Alicia. “That’s just propaganda issued by their Government in order to brainwash us, both parasites and humans.”

“Nicholas, please. You said you hate that propaganda during War time meant to lift up the public spirits and that the citizens would have the appropriate mindset for what should come,” says Harrison, a statement which is entirely true, “how can you now believe any of that?” 

Dad smiles, surprisingly, since it’s the last response I’d expected--same goes for everyone else. 

“Because the woman you’re holding back there, the same woman who, if you let her, will hopefully become my daughter-in-law in the near future, is the star on all those DVDs. She’s a great teacher, really. She’s the one who started all of this and managed to get the engines going.” 

His words are so out of the blue and surprising that it takes everyone a full minute to process them--he finds me with my eyebrows frowned too. In the meantime, he awaits patiently on his chair, his fingers crossed. 

“Wait,” says Mary. 

“Daughter-in-law?” demands Alicia in her place. 

“And you mean that thing over there could brainwash us too?” Harrison finishes. 

I roll my eyes and do my best to stop from groaning, much less hitting him on the face again. He understood nothing of my father’s words. The fact that he and I brought here the one Soul who encouraged our former enemies to stop, think and deliberate whether staying or leaving, should have meant something to them. And that it shouldn’t, breaks my heart. 

“For the love of--Listen, before all of that, Wanda showed up at our hideaway too. She was in one of our friend’s old loved body, which kept her alive for some time. We knew we couldn’t let her get away, same thing you’re doing right now. But time passed and then, our Nicholas, called Jeb, plotted a plan so we would get used to seeing her walking around in our hideaway, working with us, eating with us, sleeping under our same roof. Slowly, our minds changed too--and we ended up realizing what sort of person she really was. You just have to give her a chance. And you’ll achieve nothing by keeping her under lock with--” 

“Ian,” Dad interrupts me again, raising one hand, noticing I was about to lose my temper all over again. “Like you just said, things didn’t change overnight in your caves. And neither did the Souls--your Wanderer needed almost a whole academic year worth of lectures to get the message out there and get the first actions to her words.” 

Noticing how everyone’s staring at me, I nod in order to confirm Dad’s speech. 

“We’ve given you a lot to consider,” resumes Dad, exchanging apologetic smiles up and down the table. “Give it some thought tonight. Let’s not decide anything for the time being. We’re really not in a rush. Everyone, go to sleep.” 

Dad has certainly the role of Jeb in here, because his words are final: with more or less energy and will, everyone stands from the table. I stay, because I know Dad wants to have a private word with me, while everyone else starts heading for the bedrooms. 

“Does this mean I have to share a room with Greg?” complains Mary. 

“Not for long,” promises Alicia. 

“This is a bad idea,” scowls Harrison under his breath, perhaps without realizing this place is too small not to hear his words. “This will end badly. I am telling you. Should finish it while we have the chance.” 

“So we’ll have to share our supplies too?” demands Greg, sounding as outraged as Jared used to be what with Wanda in the caves. “Aren’t we short enough--” 

And luckily, those are the last words I hear. Only then do I stand, although my father stays on the chair. 

“I should go guard Wanda,” I say. 

“Honestly, I doubt she’ll try to escape,” Dad replies. 

“Like I said, she never would--she’s too smart for that.” _Or too afraid,_ I add internally, because that’s the real reason why she’d never attempt to leave her room, even if we left the door open and unguarded for hours on end. “I’m actually more concerned about what Harrison or Jameson--” 

“Oh, don’t worry about them, they won’t try anything. Not tonight, nor tomorrow. Rest easy.” 

“How can you tell? Do you really trust them that much?” 

“We’ve been through a lot, son, I thought you’d know what that feels, what with your family from Arizona. And I thought too you trusted my word.” 

“Yours, implicitly. Theirs--” 

“Theirs is as good as mine,” he interjects, leaving no room for an argument. “Dear God, d’you want something to drink?” 

“Please,” I beg before he finishes the sentence. That’s why I stood up in the first place, actually, but since I don’t know where anything goes, I had to settle. Thankfully, Dad needs only a couple of seconds to grab two glasses and a half-empty bottle of Martini. I am greatly surprised to see this here, to be honest. 

“When the old man died, we scavanged the place before someone else got there,” he explains, although that raises even more questions. I decide to push them all aside and take the first sip of drink. 

We stand still, leaning on the table, noticing the drink burning my esophagus and stomach--though I am more looking forward the nulling mind effect of the alcohol rather than just staying warm. 

“Dad,” I say a few minutes later, staring at my empty glass, “why did you bring us here?” 

He takes some seconds and when I thought he was about to answer me, he just reaches for the bottle and refills my glass. I don’t complain and let him scrape a few more seconds to look for the appropriate words. 

“I was selfish, I suppose,” he says in the end, which gets a loud scoff from me. 

“You don’t say. You let your people lock Wanda and almost kill her--” 

“No, I’d never let it go that far,” he promises me and just when he used to promise that he’d always be there to fight the monsters of the night, I believe him implicitly. “Aside from your feelings for her and whatever she may become in the future, I wouldn’t allow another death, not under my roof, not now that things have actually changed.” 

I nod a few times, pondering his answer. Then I drink another sip before motioning him to continue. 

“The reason I brought you two, or more specifically, Wanderer, here--” 

“Greater declaration of love if I ever heard one,” I murmur, getting in return a roll of eyes from Dad. 

“--Was because I knew that if I came back empty-handed, they’d never believe me--they’d never stop for a second to listen to me. Even with the DVDs I got, I doubted I could convince them that things had truly changed. Bringing a Soul here, especially Wanda, perhaps that would open their eyes the same way she opened yours back in the caves.” 

“God, Dad. You should have told us--we’d have been in the right mindset to help you in your scheme. We'd have known what to expect--and maybe I'd have left Nick back at home just in case, so he wouldn't be forced to see his mother being taken away by strange people. You gave us a fricking heart attack--Wanda still fears she’s got a date with the butcher of the house.” 

“I am deeply sorry, Ian. I know you’re right, but I didn’t know how to tell you. I foresaw how they’d react upon seeing a Soul in here--they all fear those gleamy eyes, there’s no way they could have stopped long enough to listen. Only when they’d locked her up in the most secure place of this bunker, they’d have been up to listen to us.” He sighs deeply, drinking the last sip of alcohol and setting the glass on the table without the intention of washing it tonight, apparently. “I’m sorry if I put you through a bad time. I really didn’t mean it.” 

“You should apologize to Wanda,” I scowl. 

“And I will, of course--as soon as I can. With her here, it changes everything, Ian.” 

“Yeah, she does that,” I confirm with a smile on my lips. I also drink the last sip of alcohol and refrain from asking a second refill. “Do you think it’ll work?” 

Dad’s grin says more than his words and I feel calmer already. 

“Oh, it will,” he promises with that puzzling grin. “I hope it doesn’t take too long, but it certainly will work, my son. Even if I have to tie them up to these chairs and force them to watch every single DVD I brought.” 

His answer makes me laugh out loud for the first time since we got to the bunker--soon I hope I haven’t woken anybody up. Dad winks at me and pats my shoulder. I answer the same way. 

“Let’s just hope you don’t have to resort to that,” I whisper. “Night, Dad.” 

“Goodnight. Where will you be sleeping?” 

I freeze under the living room’s doorstep and turn around very slowly. 

“The correct question is who I’ll be sleeping with, but I do hope we don’t have to worry about social conventions now that we’ve struggled through the end of the world and when I already had a child with the woman I love?” 

Dad chuckles and I know he was just messing with me. It’s been too long since we shared with anyone a bond strong enough to handle jokes and pranks. I don't recall many occasions where Kyle and I, or anyone else from the caves, shared a good laughter. What we used to call 'a good week' consisted in no Seekers around our shelter, missions carried out without problems or being spotted by Souls, and no particular arguments with Kyle that prompted me to kick him. Then again, things are changing for the better now.

“See you in the morning, kid.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda's imprisonment continues one week later

Nick throws his beanbag. . . And it lands neatly on the basket. 

“Yes!” I explode, celebrating the achievement as if she’d just won the Olympic Games. “Will you look at that! Nice shot, Nick!” 

He squeals in delight as well, encouraged by my own excitement, as he claps over an over again eyeing the beanbag on the basket and I carry him all around the room in a celebratory round for my son. He’s one of the only distractions I’ve got in here, so I’m making a good use of every second I’ve got with him. Up until today, we’ve played catch me if you can; we’ve danced along without music, just the simple melodies I could hum and whistle; we’ve discovered none of us has a knack for rhythm after we tried playing the drums--anything that’ll distract us both from the situation we’re in. 

I let Nick on the floor and kneel to retrieve the beanbags. On this past round, only Nick’s hit the target--mine’s on the floor, five inches from the basket. 

“Mommy, can we go outside?” His pitiful voice and desperate plea break my heart, as I find my son close to the door--if he’s not trying to turn the doorknob is just because he’s too small to reach it. With Ian, Nicholas and his friends, Nick can play along up and down the bunker--only his mother keeps him inside a single room, which after a bit more than an hour, must get lonely and boring for a toddler. 

“Not just yet, honey,” I say, grabbing his hand and pulling him away from the door. “In a little while, okay? Come on, try again.” 

Handing him the beanbag works for a distraction to get him focused on hitting the target again, overtaking his mother in the process, but I know he’s right. He--we--should be given the chance to spend the afternoon together however we like, as in, using all the affordable space to play along for hours on end. However, I’m still stuck in my room--having Nick with me for the afternoon is a luxury I know I could lose, if it weren’t for Ian and Nicholas out there. 

After playing for half an hour at construction with sponge blocks, I hear footsteps coming our way and then the key turning on the lock. I can’t help but smile, knowing who it is, and tap on Nick’s belly to attract his attention. 

“Look who came to see you,” I say, pointing at the entrance. 

He understands as well what does that sound mean and he stands and heads for the door with a broad smile. I follow him closely, without being able to refrain myself. Ian has been bringing me three meals a day and I’ve been allowed to spend time with my son every morning and every afternoon, inside my room--all in all, I guess there have been some major improvements from the time I was imprisoned in the caves, under Jared’s guard. 

The door opens at that moment, but it’s not Ian on the doorstep, but Jameson. 

“Nick, come here,” I order. 

My voice is too sharp and so Nick is immediately compelled to listen to me. With his wobbly steps, he turns around and stands by my legs. I grab his little hand without moving my eyes from Jameson, who stands, unmoved, by the entrance. 

“I’m here to take you,” he says finally. 

My throat runs dry and ever so slowly, I close my hands into fists--though I stop when I remember I’m still holding Nick by his hand and I don’t mean to hurt him, thus making him panic sooner than he should. 

“Alright, then. Can you please make sure Nick stays inside this room?” I ask. If I sound barely brave and if my voice doesn’t break is only because my son’s here and I don’t mean to frighten him. I shouldn’t drop on my knees and beg, nor yell or plead for mercy, not in front of my son. He doesn’t need such cruel memories at such a young age, carved in his memories for ever, when he doesn’t understand what in the world is going on. 

“No. You’re bringing him with you too,” scowls Jameson. 

“What?” 

“Dear Lord, can you make it sound _any_ more ominous?” scowls Ian, appearing all of a sudden behind Jameson. I frown at his sight and I take some steps backwards, pulling Nick with me. He shouldn’t be here, not for this. He won’t survive this any more than Nick would, if he could grasp what’s about to happen here. 

Jameson shrugs as an answer to both my reaction and Ian’s words. 

“I just want you lot out of my sight.” 

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to endure our presences for much longer,” scowls Ian, stepping into the room with his eyebrows frowned. Only then do I see the tray he carries in with him, with enough food for two, maybe three people, I gather. “Now, let us eat in peace.” 

The man doesn’t need to be told twice. He shuts the door, but doesn’t lock it, and judging by the footsteps, he does abandon his guarding duty. 

Ian couldn’t care less about Jameson, his whereabouts or occupation; as soon as the door was shut, he addressed Nick to got him all excited about dinner and dropped the tray with food on the mattress, so the three of us could eat dinner, all together. 

“Wanda,” he calls out then, holding out a hand to me. 

His call is too inciting for me. I reach the bed in two long strides, laying on the mattress besides Nick, to help him eat the soup on such an unbalanced place. Ian, in front of me, starts devouring a tortilla sandwich, without budging his eyes from Nick either. I watch Ian eat--I’ve missed this, the three of us sharing a real meal, but I’m also concerned about that strange exchange between Ian and Jameson earlier. I can’t make heads or tails out of it still. 

“What’s going on?” I ask in a whisper. 

“Nothing to worry you about,” promises him, leaning so he can wipe Nick’s lips off with the napkin. 

“Newsreel, Ian, I _am_ worried. I’ve been worried sick for the past five days.” 

As he sits back, Ian tilts his head and looks down on our son, too concentrated on the soup to listen to the conversation, and still too young to understand what’s happening, but nevertheless, if I want to keep him in the dark, I can’t raise my voice like that. I take a very deep sigh and resume eating my soup. But in the meantime, I keep on staring at Ian by the corner of my eye, trying to decipher his current state of mood. He doesn’t look too bad--tired, same as me, with some dark bags under his eyes, unshaven and most certainly pissed off, but alright overall. He doesn’t give me any more clues to work on. 

We finish dinner in silence and then Nick dozes off. I let him rest on my lap and sing the “Goodnight moon” rhyme to him as Ian leaves the tray with the dishes on the floor, to avoid any accidents. I caress Nick’s hair gently for some minutes, till his immobile figure and even breathing tells me he’s actually fallen asleep. Then, without stopping the movement of my hand up and down Nick’s hair, I look up at Ian. He nods, proving he’s about to explain everything. 

“Storm’s over and we are getting the hell out of this place.” 

I frown--but that moment of freeze is enough to make Nick stir in my lap, so I resume the caresses and keep on breathing again. 

“What do you mean?” 

“That we’re leaving this bunker, today, and get back to Denver or wherever you want to go next to rest after all of this.” 

“But, what about--” 

“They won’t stop us,” he scowls when I motion for outside, meaning the humans who reside in the bunker. “They’re not going to kill any of us, they refuse to listen to you, they don’t want to keep you locked up in here and they’re starting to feel like we’ve overextended their hospitality--so the best option is for us to move on.” 

“They can’t throw you away!” 

“And they aren’t. _I’m_ getting the hell out. I don’t want to spend another minute under this roof. Thought you might want to come with me.” 

“What about your father?” I ask, my heart in a fist. Now that this family had been reunited after five years of thinking and fearing they’d all been killed, I don’t want them to be split apart once more. Not because of me--I couldn’t handle it. 

“He’s going to stay here for a little while,” says Ian, proving that was the hardest decision--we leaving, that’s out of the question, I can tell, “to prove to the others that bringing you here wasn’t a rouse, that this shelter is still safe and sound, unknown by the Seekers. Then, in a few weeks, he’s going to come back home--and he’s going to try to convince them to join him.” 

“Say they don’t,” I demand, because I can tell that’s a very high probability. 

“He’s going to come back either way--he hasn’t seen Kyle or met Sunny yet, remember,” says Ian, his voice sweeter now. I wish I could have been there for the deliberation and negotiations--perhaps I could come up with a better plan that doesn’t involve father and son going their own separate ways again. 

“Are you sure?” 

“I’m sure that I don’t want to spend another minute in here, with you locked up because a bunch of irrational people won’t listen,” he scowls, eyeing the room I’ve been secluded in for the past five days, without windows to the exterior or any other distraction altogether. “Dad has stated that he won’t stop us--the others won’t even try.” 

Once more, I see that having Ian’s father and the leader of this group on our side makes things quite easy and safe for our family. I’ve come to understand the reasons why he brought me up here with him--even before the conversation we had when he came into my room on my second day of seclusion--but still, things could have easily gone south if he weren’t such an important and respected figure on this family. I could have been killed right away before they asked any questions. And even if, like in the caves, they decided against shooting me, I expected weeks of waiting inside this five per six feet room and then some more weeks of coexisting with the human family before they’d got around to trust me and believe me. Being able to just march through that door and leave this place wasn’t what I’d foreseen. 

“So. . . When?” I can’t help but ask. 

Ian smiles--he, too, wants to leave this place the sooner the better and put this whole adventure behind us. 

“Dad’s prepping our bags and supplies as we speak,” he says. “So, whenever we’re ready and up to it, actually.” 

“As in, right now?” I suggest. 

This time, Ian chuckles, though regrets it immediately--luckily, it didn’t wake up Nick. 

“Yes, if that’s what you want.” 

I raise both my eyebrows as a response. Since Ian’s caressing Nick’s belly he doesn’t see me and my lack of verbal response astonishes him, till he looks up at me--and then chuckles once more. We do think alike. He points at Nick with his eyes. 

“Guess he’ll survive if we leave him alone for a while?” 

Ever so carefully, I leave Nick on the mattress. We put my coat and a pillow on both sides of him, in case to prevent him from rolling off the bed, and then we sneak out of the room where I’ve been kept in for five days. Hadn’t I been holding Ian’s hand, or hadn’t I been more concerned about not waking Nick up, the realization of finally leaving this room without any humans trying to stop me would have left me out of breath for some seconds. 

We don’t go too far--Ian drags me into the next room, adjacent to the place I’ve been calling my cell, where his father is, packing the bags we brought with us. He greets us both as if nothing out of ordinary had happened and we join him in collecting all of Nick’s toys and clothes, preparing our change of clothes and discussing what supplies we should take. 

About half an hour later, we’re interrupted--by some cries coming from my old room. I stand from the ground where I was packing my back, although bad memories resurface on my mind as I imagine stepping into my cell once more, but all of a sudden Nicholas Senior is before me. 

“Allow me some minutes alone with my grandson before you take him away,” he begs, truly needing his wish come true. “I’ll change him too.” 

I can’t deny him that, not when he looks so excited to spend a little while with his grandson, and Nicholas leaves the room, carrying a change of clothes in his arms for Nick. While Nicholas Senior and Junior are outside of the room, I try to keep my temper and focus on the work I’m doing in order to keep me busy and not fall apart. By the corner of my eye I see Ian coming to my side to finish packing his bag--giving me a chance to open up to him, without actually saying the words. 

I’m this close to drop everything and tell him what’s on my mind, but I’m denied the chance by the arrival of Nicholas, holding his grandson in his arms, already with his winter clothes on. The sight makes me chuckle and immediately I invite Nick to join me into making our backpacks, easily transforming the dull task into an interactive game with the boy. Even with his help, or oftentimes, bother, we need thirty more minutes to fully prepare our bags--and then Nicholas Senior gets to spend another ten minutes alone with his grandson, when Ian and I hit the bathroom in order to change, as well, into our winter clothes. When we come out, Nicholas leads the way, showing me for the first and last time the bunker he created thanks to hard work and his prior job, when he was just a teenager, as a carpenter’s assistant. 

There are seven rooms, although they only really use five of them--and I don't really waste time asking the names of the inhabitants or their personal histories. Little apartments with much else apart from the bed, a cupboard and perhaps a bedside table, excluding its own little bathroom, and also its own central heating and source of water, so they can share a room in case there’d be a problem with the heaters or the running water during the worst days of winter. The major bathroom is used for showering and major laundry chores--which I wish I could have used before leaving, but I won’t make the mistake of asking. 

Our good humor and easy-going chat about the place and Nicholas' major construction work vanishes as soon as we step into the common room, where all the human family stays--clearly waiting for all of us. Their faces are so menacing as I recall my now family glaring at me those first few days when Jeb walked me around the caves--I can only thank them for not having weapons with them. But I am sure there’s yet another confrontation coming. Even with Nicholas on our side, they’re enough people to stop me from getting out of the bunker. 

Before anyone opens their mouth, I drop my bag to the floor, with a loud thud that gets the same effect as if I’ve just started insulting them or physically attacked someone. 

“Okay, I know this is the last thing you want to hear right now, but I’m going to say just a few words before leaving. That’s all I’m asking.” 

“Wanda, you really don’t have to--” Nicholas tries to stop me. I think he’s not just trying to spare me from doing something I clearly don’t want nor shouldn’t do, but he’s concerned as well about the reaction his friends will take towards my speech--I do realize they’re perfectly able to hurt me and lock me up again before Nicholas or Ian can act against them. 

“I think I do,” I reply and my voice convinces Ian not to attempt to make me shut up. Then I turn towards the rest of the humans. “I understand that you’re scared. If you knew me, you’d know you’ve got nothing to fear, not from me, not from my species. But I also know you’ve lost a lot of people because of us--and that you’re just redirecting that anger towards me, the only specimen of that species that you’ve ever met. What you’re feeling and going through is completely normal, no-one can judge you for that.” 

“Well--” Ian tries to interject, but I stop him raising one hand. 

“No one,” I insist. “At this point it’s only normal that you hate me, resent me and detest me--and it’s going to take more than words and DVDs to change your minds. I only want to ask you that you try, really try, to keep an open mind. Things have truly changed out there--we want to repair the bad we’ve caused and help you, in any way we can. So, when Nicholas goes back to the outside world, because he eventually will, I encourage you to join him, in order to check what we’ve been telling you for days. You’ll only know if you see it for yourselves. In the meantime, we’ll be waiting for all of you back in Denver. 

“Now, I think it’s time to leave. Thank you for your hospitality,” the last words, in spite of what they might think about me, aren’t complete hipocrisy coming from me. I’ve been treated way better than I was treated back in the caves. Even if it was only because of Nicholas and Ian’s persistance. 

“Say goodbye, Nick,” I instruct, and the toddler heeds my order, waving goodbye to the family. 

Ian doesn’t say a word before he points me towards the direction of the way out, that is, down the hall, and walks beside me, placing one hand on my waist, forcing me and thus Nick, to step up our pace. Nicholas follows us and for some seconds I have to wonder if he does so in order to protect us all until we reach the outside and are actually safe and free. 

I realize it was only a too pessimistic and ominous thought when Nicholas takes his coat, hands out flashlights all around and leaves the shelter with us, through the trapdoor where I was taken five days ago. I need to breathe very carefully in order to keep my hands from shaking and a steady pace, so Nick, who walks by my side, much less Ian or Nicholas, don’t notice anything. 

Nicholas leads the way once we’re outside--and he doesn’t head for the house, I believe, although I’m a bit disoriented still around this place. But my gut was right: about a hundred yards east from the shelter, in the opposite direction of the actual house, we stumble across another van, very similar to the one Nicholas drove to get us up here. 

“You could have parked this close to the refuge and yet you forced us to walk for three hours to reach the shelter?” demands Ian, stopping when he sees the van. 

His father just shrugs, not at all bothered by the accusation. 

“The forecast didn’t foresee a storm coming that could erase our tracks. It was safer this way, son. Hiding in here is not the same as in the desert--we have to be careful with these kind of things.” 

In the end, Ian nods and steps towards the van. He better than anyone amongst us understands the cautionary measures needed to keep a human family safe. If it meant a little excursion through the woods, it was certainly worth it. Even if said measures aren’t needed anymore and said family shouldn’t be in hiding at all. 

While Ian and I load the van, Nicholas straps Nick on the baby seat. Until we’re done with our task, grandson and grandfather keep saying goodbye and share a thousand goodbye kisses on the cheeks and jokes about games I know nothing about--I fear I’ve missed one too many days concerning my son’s life, what with my hospitalization and then the seclusion in the shelter. I don’t mention it and make sure Nick’s strapped correctly while Ian and his father say their farewells. 

Saying goodbye to a man I met six days ago and who consciously invited me into a dangerous trap is actually harder than I expected, considering all I wanted to do ten minutes ago was getting the hell out of this place and go somewhere else far, far away. The man handing me a couple CDs to play on the car for Nick makes it all harder: the Paddington Treasury by Michael Bond, Favorite Beatrix Potter Tales and CBeebies The Album. Ian gasps upon seeing them--I guess they’re remastered editions of the CDs he and Kyle used to listen in the car, before the Apocalypse. The gesture almost gets me into sobbing and, laughing at my expense, Nicholas embraces me in his arms, wiping off the tears from my cheeks. Once I’ve recovered and Ian has thanked his father over a dozen times, we climb into the front seats of the van and Nicholas, waving goodbye, steps backwards. 

Ian starts the engine and we’re already waving goodbye to Nicholas when the car comes to a sudden, abrupt hall. I have to thank the seatbelt--as Ian turns the key again to re-start the engine. 

“Everything alright?” I ask, with Nicholas stepping closer too, worried. 

“Hey, I’ve never driven this car before--it just stalled,” Ian explains, a bit flustered and embarrassed. “I’ll get the hang of it. Bye, Dad,” he says goodbye when the van finally starts moving, shutting the window. 

In a matter of seconds we lose sight of Nicholas and we’re surrounded, once more, just by white snow and naked trees, the roar of the engine and the tracks we leave behind--we only know our destination thanks to the GPS attached to the car. And yet, putting some distance between me and the people who kept me locked for five days straight isn’t helping my good humor, quite the opposite: I’m having a hard time joining the easy-going conversation Ian and Nick are holding. 

At that moment, Ian rests a hand on my knee, a dangerous move considering he should have both hands on the wheel. But I can’t bring myself to tell him off because of that. I can see he’s just too happy to be leaving, too. 

“Don’t be angry with your father,” I beg. I couldn’t bear it if we parted ways like this. 

“I’m not,” he replies and even I can tell he’s lying. “What about you?” 

I warn him with my eyes, because I’m aware that Nick can hear us--and right on time, he speaks up, addressing Ian, with a pitiful voice that breaks my heart too. 

“Are you upset, Daddy?”

“It’s nothing, buddy,” promises Ian, lying to his son without the hint of remorse, plastering a broad smile on his lips to look at Nick through the rearview mirror. 

“Nick, I just want you to understand something,” I say, because there are a couple things to learn about the experience we’ve just lived. “Never, ever, be afraid of speaking your mind, for any reason. Honesty will always be better than lying. Always tell people how you feel. D’you understand?” 

He nods a few times, but I sincerely doubt he really does. Since Ian’s looking at me with a funny look too, I decide to change the subject. 

“Let’s listen to some music, shall we?” I ask, to which he responds with excited eagerness. I’m sure his grandfather has made him listen to the CDs these past few days--and I’m proven so the minute I put the CBeebies album on, because he starts singing along with acute memory. 

“So? That’s what you want your son to remember from that experience?” demands Ian then, now that the music will prevent Nick from hearing anything else and worrying when he shouldn’t worry. I am a bit concerned about driving in the dark through the woods, but after that first incident, Ian seems to consider this driving an “easy peasy”, as he calls it. 

“He’s human and will hardly ever have a problem with speaking his mind, but I wanted him to understand that he shouldn’t feel embarrassed for speaking up if he feels he should,” I explain. 

Ian rolls his eyes and sighs deeply, but opts for letting it go. 

“But that’s not what’s bugging you,” he remarks, spot on. 

Need a couple seconds and a big intake of air, but in the end I open up too--I do know there’s nothing I cannot tell Ian and there’s no logical reason as not to tell him. 

“I don’t feel like there was a good solution to the crossroad,” I confess. “On one hand, I wanted desperately to get out of those four walls. On the other, my wish meant that you and that our son will be, once more, apart from your father and grandpa. Doesn’t seem correct.” 

“You know better than to think like that, Wanda,” says Ian. “First of all, it’s not only your wish, I wanted to escape that bunker as well, and Nick’s been begging to get out to the snow again since the second day of your capture.”

“Don’t call it--” I want to beg, but he interjects me. 

“I’ll call it what it was, Wanda--they retained you and held you prisoner for five days. Hadn’t I or Dad been there, I don’t know what they’d have done to you,” he scowls, to move on to his next point with a sweeter tone. “Second, we’ll see Dad again real soon, Wanda--it’s not goodbye forever, OK? I won’t let it happen, either. For now, this, going back to our home, to Denver, is our best option. And you shouldn’t feel bad for picking it and acting upon it.” 

Grabbing Ian’s hand and just hoping we don’t crash, I nod a few times, wanting desperately to believe his words and to be able to feel good about abandoning what was my so-called prison for a mere period of time of five lonely days. Denver--our home. It does sound good. It has a nice ring to it that I know I could get used to. Having another home on Earth apart from the caves, that was merely a hiding place for an era that we just need to get out of.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian, Wanda and Nick finally reach their apartment in Denver, where they look forwards some time to rest and recover from their latest adventure. At least, those were the plans for some.

“I really don’t know what you want, but that won’t be of any help,” says Ian. 

Takes me some seconds to realize he’s talking about the cellphone I’ve got in my hand. Since I looked for some tissues on my bag and found as well the phone, I’ve held the device and haven’t let go, perhaps for more than five minutes. I’m still not sure of the reason--though on the other hand, I do know. I’ve known for hours, I think: ever since we left the shelter and put that experience with Nicholas’ friends behind us. 

Staring at the device, I chuckle to confirm Ian’s words. We’re still in the middle of nowhere, there’s no way I could call anyone right now. Doesn’t matter how much I need to talk to Melanie and Jamie--and yes, Jared too. And Jeb as well, to make sure the rest of our family’s safe and sound too after five days. It’s dawning already, but Ian says he doesn’t mind driving for a little while longer. 

“I need to make a phone call the minute we’re on a cell reception area,” I say. 

Now it’s Ian who chuckles--my voice sounded too eager, a bit desperate, for the situation we’re in. It’s been quiet for some time, since Nick fell asleep and we stopped the children CD player and we could fall into a comfortable silence, just enjoying our company and freedom. I wouldn’t mind this trip to last a few days; I could live with only Ian and Nick with me. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckles. 

He pulls over to one side of the road to let another car pass by and waves as the driver thanks him the bother. I try to suggest changing seats, but Ian restarts the engine before I can put in a single word; every time I’ve offered to drive, even though he’s been driving for most of the night now that it’s already dawning, he’s refused. With the windows partially open, in spite of being mid-January, I understand him--he’s been craving the outdoors. We all needed to get out of that shelter. 

My wish isn’t granted until twenty minutes later, when we finally leave the local road that lead to the woods and to Nicholas’ shelter and hit the Interstate. Although this road is also partially frozen and dangerous, I breathe out, more relaxed now that the road conditions have improved greatly. 

“Try now,” says Ian, raising an eyebrow at me. 

Due to the enthusiasm, I dial Mel’s number wrongly twice, but I somehow end calling her. She answers after the second ring and as soon as she speaks I realize she was worried sick about us three. Her initial greeting is loud enough to wake Nick up, I just know. 

“ _WANDA!_ Finally! May I know where the hell are you?! Who do you think you are, going off the radar like that without telling anyone?” I also hear Jared’s and Jamie’s distressed voices, inquiring about me and Nick and Ian. 

“Hello, Mel, I missed you too.” 

“Cut the pleasantries and explain yourself!” she orders--and I can do nothing but oblige. 

“I’m sorry. We were with Ian’s father to meet the humans he was in hiding with,” I explain, overlooking many of the important details--Ian shakes his head but luckily he’s driving and doesn’t steal my phone to give a more exact summary of our story. 

“Uh-uh. And how’d _that_ go?” demands Mel. Even without Ian as my interpreter, she seems to hear the words I don’t dare to utter. 

“Let’s just say I’m glad to be heading home.” 

“To Denver?” My dear sister. She understands as well that I don’t want to talk about what happened, not so soon, perhaps not ever--and moves on. Only she understands me that well, apart from Ian. 

“Yes, to Denver.” 

“Well, this vanishing of yours better don’t happen ever again, Wanda. We were worried sick and had our minds to go back to Denver and track you down as well.” 

“I’m sorry--I’ll give you a heads-up next time.” 

“You better, or else I’ll tie you up in your apartment in Denver and won’t let you out of the place.” 

Her idea makes me laugh out loud--because it’s so like Mel, and so out of the place, and she’s perfectly capable of undergoing her threat. 

“Thought we were on the ‘I missed you’ part of the conversation?” I ask in mockery. 

“Hey, I’m human, Wanda--try to keep up,” scowls Mel. 

“Alright, alright,” I chuckle. “How are you three? Where are you right now?” 

“Better, now that we know you’re safe and sound. We’re currently in Evansville, on our way to Kansas City--but we’d agreed we’d head back to Denver if we didn’t have any news of you and Ian and the baby.” 

“Well, you can proceed with your original plans, Mel. Evansville, then?” 

“Yes, one of Jared’s brothers supposedly lived there for some time. We’re actually just going around in circles, ringing on bells and getting new addresses and numbers to call every time, with no success,” Melanie sighs deeply, showing she’s somewhat tired and wouldn’t mind to settle down someplace or another. 

“I’d say ‘don’t give up hope’, but I’m not sure it’d help,” I chuckle. It’d be like saying ‘don’t be angry’ to someone who’s clearly upset. 

“No, it doesn’t, but appreciate it,” she sighs again. “If we don’t find out anything definitive in the next few days we’ll head back home and rest for a while. Let them do the tracking, see if it works.” 

“You never know. Well, I have to go, I was just checking in. Give my best to Jamie and Jared. A hug from Ian,” I add before hanging up. 

“Is that what you wanted to do so desperately?” asks the man then. “Talk to your sister?” 

“Why do you find that so surprising?” 

“No reason,” he chuckles again, dropping the subject. He more than anyone, apart from maybe Jared, knows the bond that links Mel and I--he should have predicted I wanted to check in on my sister and make sure they’re alright after six whole days without speaking to each other. In spite of knowing I could never explain what happened in that shelter, not in a long time to come, I had to get in touch with her and catch up. 

I, too, move on to another subject. 

“How long till Denver still?” 

Ian shrugs--I am aware there are a few variables down the road. 

“Couple hours. Three tops,” he says in the end. “You in some kind of rush that I don’t know about?” 

I chuckle, because it’s nothing like that, and have to fight the urge of hugging Ian at a very bad time, where such a distraction could cause a terrible accident. He seems to understand me, since he reaches a hand and grabs mine, without taking his eyes off the road. 

“Just want to get home, that’s all.” 

He nods with me, a shy smile on his lips. I realize that for the past five days, Ian’s wished that we’d stayed behind and not joined his father, to rest for a little while and give me time to fully recover. Guess we still do things for love that aren’t adequate and that we’ll keep on doing them, where our human family’s concerned. 

A little later Nick wakes up from his nap and that means that we can effectively stop worrying, because he insists on listening again to the children’s CD from Nicholas, an album that I know he’s listened a few times while at the bunker and that I fear he’s completely hooked up on and that it’ll get Ian and I hooked up on as well. Nevertheless, there are much worse addictions in the world, so I can live with this particular one. 

We open our apartment’s door in Denver when the clock’s ringing 8am, carrying Nicholas and our few bags. We notice immediately that we won’t have the luxury of the intimacy we were so looking for at the apartment: there are lights turned on and the heaters are on as well. After we close the door and drop our bags, Kyle and Sunny come out of his room to greet us. We all prompt into laughter and melt into tight embraces. 

“Hi! What’re you doing here?” 

“Weren’t expecting you! Welcome home!” 

“You two tired from the trip?” 

“How was Vancouver, man?” 

“Hello, kiddo! Did you have fun with your parents?” 

“Is Dad coming too?” 

We all need a couple minutes to explain our respective situations. Kyle gave up on finding their mother in Vancouver and decided to go back home, see if she returned on her own free will--they actually got here the same day we left Denver for the bunker. Ian and I explain where Nicholas is and who is he with, although we spare them the details of our five-days captivity in that bunker up in Alcova lake. For the time being, that’s enough for the two of them. 

“Well, unpack, change and then we can catch up properly,” suggests Kyle, already grabbing one of our bags. His excitement surprises me--hadn’t figured him out for a man who actually wants to sit down and talk at great length with his family. 

“Kyle, actually. . . Wanda and I wanted to rest for a while,” says Ian, looking down at me. I nod immediately--he’s exhausted after these five days in the bunker and driving all night, and I won’t complain if I get to curl up beside my partner in a warm and proper bed without feeling the slight remorse for a thousand reasons. 

“Of course, sorry,” accepts Kyle without any confrontation. 

“This one has slept all the way back,” I say, pointing at Nick, “so the chances of him sleeping at all are null. Could you--?” 

“Say no more,” Sunny interrupts me kindly, “we’ll be delighted to spend some time with our nephew, won’t we, Kyle?” 

“Oh, yes, we will,” promises the man. He kneels on the floor with a wild grin, to be eye level with Nick. I honestly don’t want to know the means of entertainment Kyle showed our child all those months we were in San Diego for my college classes. “We can play football at the park, what do you say?” 

“I want to go!” begs our child. “Can I go play football?” 

“Of course you can,” I say. 

“Actually, why don’t you two go play right now?” suggests Ian. Now that Kyle’s got Nick all excited about the game, it’ll be easier to get him out of the apartment and let us go lay down for a while, instead of saying goodbye and getting Nick a bit blue, which is the last thing none of us wants. 

“Yes!” yells Nick. 

Kyle’s already left to fetch the ball I assume they got these past few days and when he comes back, he doesn’t even say goodbye before he opens the front door and allows an overexcited Nick to dash down the hall. We all stand in silence while we hear the two boys thrilled voices, until they vanish at the elevator. Kyle hasn’t even suggested Sunny joining them. 

“Oh, I’m not very good at sports,” says the woman when I point it out. “Now, go lay down.” 

It’s eerily quiet in the apartment without Nick nor Kyle, but that’s exactly what we need, so Ian and I head for the bathroom to wash ourselves and brush our teeth and then head for the room Sunny pointed for us. Ian freezes on the doorstep to the master bedroom--Kyle and Sunny, although I imagine it was her mainly, have redecorated the room to be close to what used to be, that is, Ian and Kyle’s parents bedroom. There’s also a crib, a rug, a children’s storage system for Nick, a set that would fit nowhere else in the house. I know Ian’s about to leave this room, shut the door and never look back in order to lay down in his old bedroom, but I grab his hand and pull him towards the bed. I understand he doesn’t want to occupy his parents’ bedroom, but this is the biggest room in the apartment and I won’t complain about special treatment considered the past few days we’ve had. 

Somehow I manage to force Ian into the bed, covered by the blankets, and I get to curl up to his side with his arms surrounding me. This is exactly what I call heaven. And when Ian lets go of remorse and guilt, he’s finally able to fall asleep within minutes. 

I wake up couple hours later, which is much more than I’d expected to sleep to begin with. Knowing Ian will be out of it for a long time still, I get out of bed as slowly and silently as I can--and even with Ian’s light sleeping schedules, I manage not to wake him up. He doesn’t even budge at all as I cover him with the blankets, put on a gown and shut the door behind me--peeking at Ian’s figure on the bed till the second I shut it. 

The apartment’s too quiet and silent--unequivocal sign that Nick’s still out playing with Kyle--apart from a slight rumor coming from the living room. It’s the TV, that Sunny’s watching at a volume I doubt she can really hear what they’re saying. But I guess she doesn’t really need to hear the words when she’s watching a nature documentary with the subtitles on. 

“Hello, again,” Sunny greets scooping down the sofa, welcoming me to take a seat. I sit by her side, leaving a respectful distance between us, my legs crossed under myself. “Did you sleep alright?” 

“Yes, thank you,” I appreciate. I glance first at the screen, then at the mug on Sunny’s hands. “What’re you drinking?” 

“Tea. Want a cup too?” 

“I’ll fetch it myself, thank you,” I say, grabbing from the wrist before she stands and leaves to do something I’m perfectly able to perform by myself without any help. Luckily Sunny prepared a whole kettle recently, so I can pour a whole mug of still warm tea and come back to the sofa with the mug warming my freezing fingers. The nature documentary that Sunny was watching, on polar bears and the Arctic, isn’t helping me fight the shivers. 

“Is Kyle coming back for lunch?” 

“He called a little while ago--said they’d have lunch outdoors,” says Sunny. 

“Makes me wonder what sort of lunch did Kyle have in mind,” I scowl, rolling my eyes. 

“They said something about ice-creams, hope that’s alright.” 

I chuckle. “For dessert, sure--for lunch, not so much.” 

She laughs too and then we both drink a sip of our tea, as if planned, and look down on the TV. 

“So, how was it like in Vancouver? You’d never been in Washington State before, had you?” 

Sunny didn’t actually look very interested in the documentary and all in all, I’ve been meaning to have a chat with her, all alone. We never came around to discuss things at great length back in the caves and after I left for classes, we’ve never had another chance to do so, even when we must have so much in common. Plus, it still strikes me as a surprise to think that such a delicate, amiable, kind Soul could be happy settling down with Kyle--although I’ve never confessed so to anyone, much less, Ian. 

This conversation was, without a doubt, long overdue. I should have found the time to sit down and talk with her--she’s smarter and more political than she lets on in the beginning. We catch up on everything we’ve been doing, everything that’s been going on and, most importantly, on how we feel. It’s no surprise that she should feel as guilty as I am concerning our situations and I do well in not telling her what happened back in Nicholas’ bunker. She’d receive the news with mixed emotions, just like me, I can tell. She's probably just as conflicted as I was--and still am, really. We both love this Planet more than we can explain, and we're actively attempting to get other Souls, Souls just like us, to leave a Planet that they perhaps love just as much as we do. And the only reason we are staying behind, instead of completely returning the Earth to its rightful owners, is a selfish one: we're not strong enough to be separated from the people we grew attached to while our stay. And yet we keep on forcing Souls to leave, when they perhaps had created such strong of a bond like ours. I realize now we shouldn't have split apart with Denny or Burns either. Denny left the Earth two months ago and Burns went back to the family who took him in in the first place, in order to help them get in touch with old acquaintances and lovers. Although I know I couldn't have stopped either one of them, I believe deep down we could be helping each other so much right now, coming to terms with everything. 

We’re still talking two hours later and two more mugs of tea later, when Ian comes out of the bedroom, his hair a mess, his eyes sleepish and half-closed in order not to receive so directly the lights from the living room lamps. He greets Sunny with a lazy “Hello” and leans to kiss me on the forehead. 

“We didn’t wake you, did we?” I ask with the sweetest voice, in case he's pissed off at me. 

“I’m sure you didn’t,” he replies with a smile. “Nick?” 

“Still out with Kyle,” I say. Even I notice the blue tone on my voice--I want to see my son again, right this second. Ian chuckles, caresses my knee and does his best to change the subject without my confrontation. 

“A documentary on polar bears?” he demands, barely hiding his mockery. 

“We weren’t really watching it,” says Sunny with a chuckle, grabbing the remote. Instead of turning off the TV, however, she presses the wrong button and switches the channel--on the screen appear two Souls in suit seated on a table, reporting the news. Even though I can’t hear what they’re saying, I unconsciously start reading the news ticker. 

Ian, by my side, stretches his arms and legs and sprays all over the sofa, in such an unmannerly position that gets Sunny and I chuckling. 

“Well, I think I should get out or else I’ll just drop asleep again. Perhaps I’ll catch Kyle and Nick and drag their asses back here, too. Want to come?” 

His question was directly solely at me, but still Sunny shakes her head, raising her freshly boiled tea cup in her hands. Me, on the other hand, I just tilt my head, still staring at the TV screen, winning some seconds. 

“To be honest, I’d rather stay here,” I say. “I’m still a little bit tired.” 

I notice Ian’s eyes on me, trying to figure me out--I couldn’t possibly be tired, but I did come back from somewhat of a traumatic experience and I do deserve some alone time. Whatever the reason Ian decides to understand behind my words, he seems convinced, because in the end he just kisses me on the cheek. 

“I don’t mean to bother you, but there’s a shopping list on the fridge,” says Sunny before Ian stands from the couch. “If you’re going out--” 

“No, I don’t mind,” promises Ian. “See you in a bit, ladies.” 

When we're all alone again, however, we don't resume our previous conversation--wouldn't know where to begin. I'm surprisingly immersed in the news, and Sunny isn't at all bothered by any of that, since she picks up one of her books and starts reading it on the couch. 

As for me, I leave to fetch the laptop before claiming again my spot on the sofa. I overhear the news while making some research on the Internet, looking for the latest public records Congress has published. The only stats I'm mildly interested in involve the Souls leaving our Planet--the rest of the stats published concern demographics and economics statistics I'm not patient enough to go over, although I should be taking them into account as well. The news on TV are worse, filled with happy stories of Souls finding their true Calling by leaving the Earth, or one too many reconciliation testimonials. I've got to hand it to humans, our news are pretty much rubbish. Even though I hop channels through all the news networks available, I don't hear a piece of news vaguely interesting. The only one that I have the stomach to listen from beginning to end are the experimental voyages Souls will be taking in the near future to reach undiscovered Planets--a part of me wants to be one of those explorers, a Pathfinder again. I might consider it if I hadn't another Calling here, of the biggest importance. 

In the end I just choose the better and fastest option: grab the phone and contact the primary source, that is, Congress. I get put through five different people and I have to report an account of five explanations before I can finally speak directly to Congresswoman Panrola. 

“Good afternoon, Wanderer. We started to wonder if you were ever going to contact us again.”

“Afternoon, Congresswoman. I hope this isn't a bad time, and I do apologize if it's been too long. I've been a bit busy tracking down old friends of my family.”

“Wanderer, it is never a bad time for you. So, tell me, how is it going?”

“Slowly, really,” I confess, for a lack of a better word--I can't explain now, over the phone, all what's happened lately. 

“I am very sorry to hear that, dear.”

“I appreciate it,” I whisper. It may have sounded as if something she says multiple times over the day, but I do know she truly means it. “As a matter of fact, I wanted to talk to you about the current situ--”

“WE’RE BACK!!” Nick announces his arrival at top volume, and just like Jamie would do, storms in like a hurricane and starts explaining, at the same voice volume, the highlights of his afternoon. It breaks my heart asking him to lower his voice. 

“Excuse me for a moment, Congresswoman, I just need to step into the other room,” I beg. I hold the receiver's phone so she doesn't hear the sudden rattle in the apartment and grab the laptop to get it to a safe location outside Nick's reach. As I stand up and pass by her, I send a begging look to Sunny, to which she nods, promising she'll keep Nick away for a while. She does grab Nick by the wrist so he doesn’t stop me from stepping outside, distracting him from my leaving by asking what did he do all afternoon with uncle Kyle. 

I shut myself into the room where Ian and I slept--still hearing Nick’s muffled voice explaining everything he and Kyle did today. I’m this close to go out and demand Kyle where on Earth did he learn an ice-cream was a proper lunch, but at the moment I’m a little bit too busy. I sit on the unmade bed and drop the laptop by my side. 

“So sorry about that, Congresswoman.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to apologize, I know what it’s like to raise a baby. You said you wanted to know about the current situation?”

“I did, yeah.”

“What are you looking for exactly?”

“How many humans have returned to society since the announcements, how many are properly established in their former lives before the invasion, how many families have been restored, the approximate number of human cells still in hiding--stuff like that,” I explain quickly, because there are many other statistics I want to hear. “I did check, but those aren’t public records.”

“No, they’re not, not just yet. We don’t have enough information to publish such records and statistics.”

“But you do have some information available.” 

Panrola chuckles--probably didn't expect that I’d miss the unsaid words that, for some reason, she was keeping to herself. 

“Why, yes, Wanderer, we do want to keep an eye on things now and then.” 

What was supposed to be just a catching up phone call lasts for more than an hour and with an agreement I am not one hundred percent sure I'll be able to fulfill. I come out of the bedroom a little torn, exhausted, satisfied and preoccupied at the same time--because I could hear the moment Ian came back and I know I have to face him too. 

Nick’s the first one to see me, actually. He runs towards me and jumps--right into my arms, where I was more than ready to receive him. I carry him back to the kitchen, where all the family was gathered, preparing supper. Kyle and Ian are peeling potatoes while Sunny’s chopping a few onions and she’s got also a bowl with half-beaten eggs by her side. I’m familiar enough with human recipes to know they’re preparing a Spanish omelette. 

I let Nick rest on the kitchen countertop, safely away from any knives or fires. By my side, Ian wipes off his hands on an apron and reaches a hand to caress my shoulder--he’s noticed how tense I am after that phone call. 

“What was that all about?” 

“I think I made a mistake,” I confess right off the bat, which gets Sunny and the two O’Shea brothers all preoccupied--they’ve forgotten all about their culinary tasks. “You don’t need to freak out. I just meant, I need to go to Washington D.C.”

While Sunny and Kyle visibly relax, returning to peeling potatoes and beating eggs respectively, Ian just frowns at me, his hand heavier on my shoulder. 

“What? Why?” he demands. 

“That I was on the phone with, was Congresswoman Panrola. I’ve arranged a meeting with the Council for the day after tomorrow.”

“But--why?” he repeats--apparently my answer wasn’t good enough for him. 

“We just want to have a talk about everything that's going on and all the changes that have taken place in the last weeks, that's all,” I explain. 

“To cover all that you’re going to need more than a day,” scoffs Kyle, without looking at me. And it’s a pity, because the smallest distraction could cause a severe cut with that knife he’s holding. I push those thoughts aside, but I really did miss his sense of humor. 

“Well, be as it may, they’ve invited me and I said yes,” I conclude, sharp. “That’s what I meant.”

“The day after tomorrow?” repeats Ian and I nod to confirm the date. “What’s the rush?”

“There isn’t, really. The sooner I go, the sooner I’ll be back home.” 

“You’re not planning on going by yourself, do you?’”

“Well, you did say you needed a month’s rest.”

“I said I wanted it, not needed it--and I was talking on your behalf,” he specifies a bit sharply, his eyebrows frowned upon my attempt to twist his words. “We agreed to take it slow--only yesterday night we left Dad's bunker and now you want to leave again?”

“Ian, it’s just a meeting!” 

“Yes, and in that meeting they'll ask you to speak unto nations, or, I don't know, attempt to make a mortal jump on national TV.”

Kyle bursts out laughing at that, dropping his knife involuntarily. Upon receiving the stern glances from me, Ian and even Sunny, he grabs a napkin to wipe off his hands and the tears on his eyes and sits down on a stool, trying to hold his laughter. Only then do I face Ian again. 

“Please, I’ll be gone eighteen hours tops.” 

“You are not going alone!” repeats Ian, now sounding more scared and adamant than before. 

“Well, fine--why don’t we all go? We could leave tomorrow morning and make an excursion of it all.” 

“Sure, I’d like to visit Washington,” nods Sunny, but her excitement is rudely cut off by Kyle. 

“Count me out,” he scowls, who’s returned to the countertop and his potatoes. “I’ve no interest in meeting your Government--won't be any better than what we used to have.”

“Well, have you noticed there’re no more pollution levels alerts on the States? Or--” 

“Wanda,” Ian interjects sharply before I get into a quarrel with Kyle. I drop the subject and turn towards him, who doesn’t look convinced at all about us leaving for the capital. “You really want to do this, don’t you?” he demands, defeated voice. 

“Yes, I do,” I say, simple as that. Confident and adamant. 

Ian sighs deeply, defeated at last. He throws the napkin on the countertop and looks up at Sunny and Kyle--the woman remains unmoved, while the man looks astonished and almost outraged. 

“Guess we’ve got to prepare our bags again. At least we had time to do the laundry and we’ll have clean underwear,” nods Ian. Before I can interject saying that we’ve got one day left before we have to leave, or that we could always get new clothes, he turns towards his brother and Sunny, to ask the question he already knows the answer to. “You two coming, then?”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda, Nick and Ian go to Washington DC in order to have a meeting with Council. However, Wanda's not the only one with an agenda.

“Thank you for choosing us, Wanderer--and have a good flight.” 

“Thank you for your services this early in the morning,” I answer back when I’m handed the three tickets for the first flight to Washington DC. I’ve got Nick, still asleep, in my arms, and Ian carries our couple bags till we find a table at a nearby café, so we can have a bite for breakfast before board the plane. The two customers on the surrounding tables also greet us both by our first names, which keeps putting me on edge--popularity isn’t something we Souls look forward to, and yet I find myself being recognized everywhere I go. 

It’s just the three of us, since Kyle refused to come with us and Sunny wanted to stay with him--but deep down, I wish they’d come with us, only because I have a feeling we’ll be needing the two of them soon enough. In the end we decided to stay in Denver all Wednesday and leave for Washington DC early on Tuesday morning, so we could all catch up on some sleep and, more importantly, make a few more phone calls to other members of our family, in case we needed some meeting point that could have been Denver city. However, we’re still going by ourselves. 

Just like in the road earlier, there aren’t many people roaming around the airport, apart from public servants and random flight attendants who’ve just landed. I estimate we’re going to have a pleasant flight, empty, even. The sun seems sleepy today too, since there’s scarcely daylight through the thick clouds. 

Ian barely speaks while we order and neither while we eat our breakfast. He also keeps peeking through the large windows facing the fields and runways, with a couple of planes landed, probably loading the cargo or their passengers. I understand that what I see, those ‘planes’, have nothing in common with what Ian remembers what planes resemble. These, like Jeb called them, are more ‘futuristic’ and ‘alien ships’, what they’d call UFOs back in their time. Without wings, without wheels, with the pilot’s cabin above the regular and only cabin for passengers, just a 100MW power plant, the impulse engines and the argon propellant tanks that could house up to five-hundred humans if needed, this looks like nothing Ian knew. 

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of flying,” I chuckle, mocking him for once--sometimes I’m allowed to. 

He scoffs, still wearily looking outside the windows. “Please. I don’t fear flying. I just fear stepping into a spaceship that has no wings and no means of landing.” 

I can’t help but laugh at his expense. This is the first time he doesn’t trust something coming from us Souls. And to be this, a plane, and not the medicine or food or everything else I got them from the supermarkets, it’s just a bit too much. 

“Come on, Ian, there’s nothing safer than our planes.” 

“Yeah, that’s what they used to say back in the day--and there used to be about twelve plane crashes per month, on average, on our safest aviation years,” he scowls. 

“Well, you should know by now that Souls’ technology is more reliable and safer than what you used to know,” I reply. “There has never been an aviation accident since we took charge of things and brought our technology with us.” 

“There’s always a first time for everything.” 

Upon such stubbornness and idiocy I roll my eyes and just let him have his fear in peace while I finish my breakfast too. Then he steps into the bathroom and I signal for the waiter, to ask for a sandwich to take away for Nick and for sickness pills. The man smiles fondly at me and looks above his shoulder towards the bathrooms. 

“Guessing your partner was born human, or never had an insertion?” he asks, on point. No Soul, or any human who’d been inserted with a Soul even for the briefest of times, would ever be afraid of flying. 

“Born human, yes,” I say. 

The man nods once and comes back with the pills before Ian has returned. He doesn’t look any better and even with the medicine, he looks about to be sick when he boards the plane--the five passengers welcome us in with varying degrees of amusement and preoccupation, and I just know the flight attendants will be keeping an eye on Ian for all the five hours the flight lasts. And it’s a good thing too, because when I wake up after couple hours of catching on my beauty sleep, I find out Ian’s fidgeting is even worse than Nick’s--Ian has done his best to keep quiet on his seat until I wake up and can take care of Nick, so he can spend the rest of the flight walking up and down the ship, to calm his nerves. 

All things considered, I think he manages it all pretty well. When we land, he only looks as if he’d run to Washington DC all the way back from Denver. 

It’s noon, local time, when we finally land at the Ronald Reagan Washington International Airport--and this is the kind of crowded, busy and stressful airport I expected back at Wyoming. As a matter of fact, we almost run away from the airport, carrying Nick on my arms, because there are too many people out here, in a relatively small space--after five people on a row, three humans and two Souls, stop me to have a word, we just dash through the aiport without looking behind and pray for the best. 

We planned on grabbing something to eat on a nearby café before heading to Congress, but one more person stopping us from leaving the airport forbids us to enjoy that pleasure. 

“Wanderer,” a male Soul in a black suit stops me. The fact that he isn’t smiling and doesn’t keep talking on and on about how his life has changed in the past few weeks gets me to stop walking, and Ian with me. There’s nothing remarkable about this Soul--he’s just holding a sign with my name on it. Ian understands this before I do. 

“You here to pick us up?” he asks. 

“Yes, sir,” nods the Soul, a little bit more relaxed now. “Bernard. If you please follow me. . .” 

“That’s really not necessary,” I reply, moving away when he was about to take my bags. The man freezes, astonished, still in a half-crouched position. “We are perfectly able to get to Congress on our own.” 

“Please, ma’am,” begs the man, a nervous smile playing on his lips. “I’m just following orders.” 

“Well, if I ordered you to leave us, which order would you follow then?” I know I’m pushing it, but I really don’t want the notoriety here in the middle of the airport. 

The man chuckles at that. “You’d put me on the spot if--” 

“Alright!” I exclaim in the end--don’t like it either when people start assigning blame. I throw at him my bags, in a too violent movement that hurts him, but he puts on that formal smile of his, nods at the two of us and leads the way outside. 

Of course, I should have expected a black limousine waiting for us outside the airport. Good thing we Souls are known for our sobriety and gregarious characteristics--I know that’s what Ian’s thinking as we step into the limo, while our chauffeur puts our bags in the truck. I can’t help but chuckle, because not for a second in my past two lives had I imagined I’d be traveling in a car with leather seats, a minibar, curtains on the tainted windows and a chauffer. Nick seems to enjoy it, however--he picks up the music for our small trip through the capital. 

“This is too much,” scowls Ian, although he’s helping himself to the snacks he’s found in a cupboard. 

“You don’t hear me arguing, do you?” I reply, grabbing some snacks off the bag too. 

Nick sits on my lap and takes some chips as well, and so soon enough we need to open a second bag of chips. In the meantime, we stare and get to know the capital through the tainted windows and Ian points out a few landscapes in our route. The Potomac river that runs to our right as we drive the George Washington Memorial Parkway and that we then cross through the bridge on the 14th street, the closest point we’ll be today to the Thomas Jefferson memorial or, later on, the Smithsonian Institute--but by then I’m too nervous to hear him, because I know how close we are to Congress already. Having breakfast and head by public transport to Congress was supposed to give me time to calm down and prepare myself mentally for the meeting. Ian, noticing my state of mind, grabs my hand and doesn’t let go until the chauffeur stops the limo and opens our door. 

He’s left us as close to the Capitol building as possible, on the 1st Street, and there’s a Soul lady waiting for us on the sidewalk. She introduces herself as Martha and greets Ian and I by our first names--she’s here on duty, too, but she’s all too excited to meet us three. 

“Very nice to meet you, really, it’s an honor. And this fellow must be Nicholas, am I right?” 

“Nick,” Ian corrects her, while we all look down on our child, who hides behind my legs. “Won’t you say hello to the nice lady, buddy?” 

“Hello,” whispers Nick, barely audible, but it’s good enough for everybody. 

“Afternoon, young man,” greets back Martha, before addressing me. “Shall we go?” 

“Please, lead the way.” 

Martha does what I ask, but not what I wished she would do: walk in front of us, at a respectable distance, and give us some privacy. She does exactly the opposite to that, giving us a tour of Capitol Hill we didn’t ask for, talking a bit too loudly all the way up to the Capitol Building--she managed to attract more attention than we wanted and moreover, I don’t get a chance to talk privately to Ian, put the cards on the table and get some assurance from the man. 

We only come to a halt when we’re on the steps of the Capitol, an impressive sight--even though it’s not the first time Ian or I have been here. Martha, glad that we’re appreciative enough of the Building, stops her babbling and stands by our side, contemplating with sincere awe the home of the US Congress. 

“Wanda!” 

I turn around at once--I’d recognize that voice anywhere. When I spot Mel a few feet behind us, I let go of Ian and Nick and run towards her, hugging her by the neck, then Jamie, for some very long seconds, while Ian properly and mannerly greets Jared back. I shake hands with Jared too and thank them all being here in such short notice--everything else forgotten, replaced by the joy of seeing them again after more than two weeks. 

“Oh, it’s so, so nice to see you all!!” I exclaim, hugging Mel tightly and not letting her go for more than two minutes, then doing the same thing with Jamie--I don’t care how much they complain or if they feel embarrassed at all. They all shake hands with Ian and greet Nick by tickling him in turn and making him giggle for almost a minute straight. “I’ve missed you!” 

“We missed you,” promises Jamie when I let him breathe again. 

“Not as much as I have,” I reply. 

“Well--” 

“That’s probably true,” reckons Mel in a chuckle--it’s plain to see I’m the one who’s had the worse time dealing with the separation from my family members. 

“How was the trip? Had any luck?” I ask then, looking straight at Jared, who shrugs. 

“Not just yet,” he sighs, sounding really stressed out and tired. I can understand him and this time, face to face, I’m at a loss of words to cheer him up. Jamie saves the day by starting to explain every place they’ve been and everything they’ve visited up and down the US. 

Some minutes later, Martha approaches us, a little bit confused and embarrassed. 

“Wanderer? We should go in.” 

“Of course, sorry,” I say, pushing Jamie with me, grabbing Nick with my free hand. When she notices that Jared, Mel and Jamie plan to join us, Martha stutters a few times, but can’t bring herself to say anything and so, leads the way to the building. 

As we head towards the Capitol, everyone gives Mel and I a little bit of time alone. Jared and Ian linger behind of us talking about our respective missions; Martha leads the entourage at a respectable distance; and Jamie asks Ian if he can carry Nick for a while--he’s missed his brother too, after all. That gives the two of us some seconds of privacy. 

“How’re you? Really,” Mel asks then in a whisper. 

“I’m fine, Mel, honestly,” I blatantly lie and hope she doesn’t notice--how could I tell her everything that’s happened? It’s not the right moment or time. I don’t think there will ever be an appropriate time to explain that. “And you?” 

“Oh, you know us humans. Nothing can stop us,” she shrugs it off and for a couple of seconds I have to wonder if she’s not just lying to me too. But it’s too late to ask her, since we’re already at the top of the stairs and Martha leads the way into the building. 

We follow her to the reception and stay close to Martha, just in case, because there are so many people down here and we don’t want to get dragged outside in the event of being confused by visitors without an appointment unaccompanied by someone from the inside. 

At the reception, she exchanges a few words with the male Soul on the front desk and less than a minute later, we’re all handed security badges to enter the building, identifying us all as “Visitors”, including Jamie and Nick. All around us I realize we’re offering a special treat to the tourists today--since most people recognize us all. I try to keep quiet while Martha leads us into a room on the second floor. 

I sigh upon entering the room. It’s just too similar to the one I was sent in nearly five months ago, for my ‘lecture’ with Congress, occupied by one big table at the center and a projector on one of the walls. The opposite wall is decorated by paintings of former Congressmen and Congresswomen, and the third wall is only glass, so we can see the offices on the other side of the hall. At least this time I won’t be on my own and I’ll have some people on my corner too. 

“They’ll be here in a second,” says Martha once everyone’s inside and appreciating their surroundings. “Please make yourselves comfortable. D’you want something to drink?” 

“Water would be good, thank you,” I say before somebody makes a demand totally out of place. 

“Of course. I’ll be back in a jiffy.” 

Trying to relax, because I realize I’m more nervous than any other member of my family, I take off my coat, hanging it from one of the chairs, and everyone follows my suit--they were uncertain of how to act and behave in here, but nothing else beyond that. Then I focus on Nick, helping him out of his coat and sit on a chair. 

“Why are we here?” he asks. 

“Mom and Dad need to talk to some friends of ours,” I say, simplifying things a whole lot. Ian proves so by snickering and I glare at him--luckily for them, Mel and Jared have refrained from saying anything. “They are too really important people, so we’re going to need you to stay with a friend for a little while, OK?” 

“Wanda,” Ian reprimands me in a whisper, resting a hand on my shoulder. But I shrug his hand, not willing to put my feet down on this one--just in case, I don’t want Nick around for this. Last time I had a meeting with Congress, it didn’t go that well. 

“I can’t stay?” asks Nick, a little heartbroken. 

“I’m afraid not. But it won’t be too long, and you’ll have fun playing with your toys, OK?” 

The door opens at that moment, but it’s just Martha, followed by another woman. The two bring a platter each with five glasses and two crystal jugs filled with water. They put it down on the table and start pouring water onto the glasses, when I stop them--that’s something we can do by ourselves. They drop everything and turn towards me and Ian. Apparently they have on mind the same idea I had. 

“This is Laurel, my assistant. I was wondering if you’d be comfortable enough with her keeping an eye on Nicholas for the duration of the meeting? She’s got her office just right up there,” she points out of the windows, to one of the offices down the hall, I can’t pinpoint which one exactly, “if that works with you.” 

“I’d appreciate it,” I murmur. By then Ian’s already with Nick, explaining things to our toddler, and although he doesn’t look at all happy about it, he doesn’t complain either when I tell him it’s time to leave with Laurel. I hand her Nick’s bag with various toys and games we brought with us--I think it’ll be enough to keep him occupied for a while. It breaks my heart a little to see him off with Laurel, but some seconds later, the three of them vanish through the door. 

“So I can stay?” asks Jamie then, a question that makes us all chuckle. 

“I deem you’re old enough,” I say, an answer that inflates the boy’s spirits. With a grin that he can’t erase, he sits on a nearby chair. 

The rest of us stays on their feet, too nervous, at least on my case, to take a seat just yet. For the two minutes we have to wait, we all look at each other with varying degrees of nervousness and fright--I don’t really know what’s going on inside their minds, what do they all expect out of this meeting. I’m not even sure I know what I expect out of this meeting with Congress. 

We don’t get to debate it, either, because at that point the door opens again, making us all stand to attention--even Jamie jumps off the chair to meet the newcomers. Congresswoman Panrola is the first one to step in. 

I almost gasp out loud when I see her eyes as she approaches. She’s human--her eyes don’t have that bluish gleam that gives away each and every Soul out there. Her Soul left. 

While I shake hands with her and thank her the arranging this meeting in such short notice, I can’t help but stare at the other members of Congress, who stand around the room for the greetings, in order to assess how much things have changed ever since my last visit. There are four humans in total in Congress--including Congresswoman Sattira and the Congressmen Chavall and Marcus. That realization surprises me so much that my first words come out of my mouth in stutters. I blush as I take a deep breath and rephrase the introductions--not a very good start, I reckon. 

After all the introductions and presentations, we all take our seats. The eleven members of Congress are accompanied by their assistants--all of them carrying three or four thick folders--so it’s twenty-seven people in the room. However, the assistants all take a secondary place, seating on chairs behind the Congress members, while I let all of my family sit by my side, showing that they have my complete confidence and that they can take a major part in this meeting, including Jamie. 

“First of all, let me say in the name of everyone present that we’re very glad you asked for this meeting, Wanderer,” starts Congresswoman Panrola. “You led us on our first steps to give the Earth back to humans. We still look up to you to end that process successfully and satisfactorily on all sides.” 

To my left, Ian stiffens a bit and drinks a sip of water to dimiss it in front of our family members and the Council. This is exactly what he feared to hear, I know. Internally I beg him to refrain from speaking up for the time being. 

“Well, I suggest we get on with it,” resumes Congresswoman Panrola. “We’ve got a lot to discuss.” 

Her words are met with chuckles from everyone and then, up and down the table all the members of Congress check their folders and papers. They let Congressman Oswyn take the floor on the first place. He puts on some glasses and addresses me with an apologetic smile right off the start. 

“We could compile most of what you asked, Wanderer, but I’m afraid these statistics work only for the United States of America,” he says. 

“We understand, sir.” 

“We are going to contact Governments around the world to assess the situation worldwide and we’ll get back to you on that one soon,” resumes the Congressman. “Now, concerning the situation on the US, let me start off by saying than more than two million Souls have left the Earth in the past three months and that three point five million Souls are scheduled to do so in the next two months. If this rate keeps up, we estimate that by this time next year, one third of the population will be human again.” 

This piece of news is very well received by my human family, there’s no denying it. 

“Here are the exact numbers, by State,” adds the Congressman, handing me a handful of papers clipped together. I pass them down the line, because I want to keep on listening, but Mel speaks up before anybody does. 

“But, did all those human come back? Their memories, their feelings, the ability to think, talk, walk?” she presses before I manage to stop her--that’s something they’d have told us soon enough. 

Congresswoman Reelja forgives Mel’s impatience with a smile when she resumes talking. 

“Healing Centers launched a campaign asking Souls not to leave the Earth before their former Hosts are fully recovered and operational,” she says. “Although some of those Hosts are still recuperating on hospitals around the US, most of them have returned to their previous lives. That is, nearly one point nine million humans. Here are the exact figures. Nevertheless, Healers and also Comforters all around the States are on high alert to provide medical care to humans and Souls in case anyone needs professional attention.” 

“Have there been relapses?” asks Jared. 

“Unfortunately, there have been some, yeah. Last week, a male human suffered a nervous breakdown and had to be hospitalized--and the possibility of inserting a Soul inside of him was debated for a while. This is just one random and rare example,” promises Congresswoman Reelja quickly upon seeing our faces, “but Healers warn this whole new situation can be nerve-wracking and overwhelming to some people. However, they feel overall optimistic concerning humans’ recovery prospects, I can assure you.” 

“On the other hand,” resumes Congresswoman Philippa, “we sadly can’t tell you anything about the reunited families. Humans are moving around too much for us to be able to contact them and carry out a detailed study.” 

“We understand the difficulties,” I reply, because I do not mean to make anyone feel bad about their job and lack of success. 

“As you know, we have declared public records the names, addresses and phone numbers of Souls who inhabited human apartments up until now,” says Congressman Cuthbert, who speaks with a weak voice and permanently looking down on his papers, so it’s harder to keep up with him, “to enable humans getting in touch with their families easier.” 

“Yeah, let me tell you, that’s not really working,” scowls Jared, two seats to my right. 

“Jared,” I reprimand him--this is not how Souls talk to each other. 

“But he’s right,” presses Jamie. “We’ve been on the road for two months now and we haven’t been able to find any members of his family, nor my Mom or Dad.” 

These words coming from our youngest create a tense silence in the room. It’s not as much awkward or uncomfortable as it is tense and regretful. To hear this piece of news first-hand from a teenage boy is harder than the Congress members had expected it to be. Perhaps it was a mistake allowing him to stay, if it’s going to be difficult for him to get through the meeting. 

“We are very sorry to hear that,” whispers Congressman Fulke and even Jamie can tell the man means it. “And I am sure yours aren’t the only cases. We are trying to fix this--that’s why we’re gathered here today.” 

His honest plea seems to do the trick--Jamie nods in acceptance and wipes off the tears from his eyes. Then he keeps his head dropped, so no-one will see him crying further. 

“That is indeed something we are going to discuss today,” nods Congresswoman Panrola, “but, for the time being, let’s just move on to other statistics that we do have at the moment--Congresswoman Frideswilde, if you please.” 

“Yes, of course. In the last two months, we estimate that nationally, four thousand, three hundred and sixty-eight humans have left their hide-aways and returned to society. That number is pretty accurate, because the majority of those human cells stayed at least a week in what we’ve been calling ‘Recuperating Centers’, where they could recover from dehydration or starvation while interacting with both Souls and humans, in order to sink in the news and understand what has happened,” the woman speaks without realizing we are barely able to hear her words because of their meaning is quite unfathomable to all of us, but still, we try. “Furthermore: based on the human population living in the States by the time of our arrival, those humans who perished upon facing us and--” 

“Hold on,” begs Jared, his hand raised, leaning forward in fright, I gather--I’ve not seen that look on his eyes very often. “How many humans have died since the Invasion?” 

The Council looks extremely uncomfortable and it’s hard to tell why exactly: the issue is delicate in itself, the deaths that have taken place is no one’s favorite subject, but, furthermore, there’s the slight problem that no Soul would have called ‘invasion’ our arrival to the Earth. Of course, it could have been worse--Jared could have said ‘the Apocalypse’ or ‘genocide’, and I don’t think the Council would have recovered from those. 

“Well, that depends,” is the answer coming in stutters from Congressman Oswyn. 

“What the hell does that mean?” 

“Mel!” I reprimand, astonished. 

“Sorry, Wanda, but--they’re able to tell us an approximate number of the Souls who’ll be leaving the Earth in the imminent future, but not the amount of humans who’ve perished in the last few years? What nonsense is that?” Mel tries to explain her outburst, making matter much, much worse. 

“It depends,” resumes Congressman Oswyn, looking clearly out of his comfort zone, “on whether you want to include or not into that category those humans whose lives were only saved because a Soul was inserted in them, whose consciences we know cannot ever return.” 

Well, there you have it, I want to scowl, but I swallow down my words upon seeing my family’s faces and reactions. Here’s one more thing we hadn’t considered before attending the meeting, that is, the big toll it’d take on all of us. And now there’s no way we can move on with this delicate subject without hurting one of the parties involved, humans or Souls. 

“How many?” demands Jared quietly, without even locking eyes with the Council. “How many humans have perished?” 

It’s Congressman Fulke the one who somehow plucks up the courage to answer that delicate issue. 

“Unfortunately, we think the number is up to the five hundred thousand,” he says very slowly, but he could never avoid giving us an answer to it. “Some humans committed suicide before they were caught and died because of the severe injuries--” 

Mel and I shiver at the same time--she was this close to succeeding in committing suicide. We grab our hands in order not to interrupt the Congressman, and by my other side, Ian rests one hand on my knee. We’re all so glad she didn’t succeed. 

“Others died by some accident during the Seeker’s chase,” resumes the Congressman. “And on some other instances, the human of an occupied Host woke up and killed themselves off before the Soul was even aware of what was going on exactly. Those are what we know so far--we estimate some humans in hiding might have perished as well because a lack of resources to survive out there. But three thousand of those cases could potentially be ruled out because we managed to save them by inserting a Soul inside of them. Unfortunately, we know for a fact none of those humans will ever return, so how to categorize them relies on your point of view, really.” 

I nod and look around my side of the table--none of my family members look ready to start discussing this particular subject. A few years back--heck, some months back--they’d have stated without a shred of doubt that an inserted human whose conscience couldn’t come back was, for all accounts, a dead human. Now they know differently. They know that Soul or no Soul, at least that Host still has a life, and it might be a long one too. Then again, it’s not the time to ponder about it. 

“We have to apologize for all those deaths,” says Congresswoman Frideswilde in a whisper, “Soul inserted or not, none of those humans deserved to die. We know that now.” 

“Our coming here was never meant to cause casualties,” adds Congressman Cuthbert. “By the time we realized what was going on, it was too late already--we’d already stablished here. We couldn’t force fellow Souls to leave.” 

“If it were possible, somehow, to bring them back, we would--” 

“Even with all of your technology we know that is not possible,” Mel waves the suggestion off with her hand, really trying to be polite. 

“Hence, we feel we should make up all the bad we’ve caused by coming here.” 

Even before I get a glimpse of the Council’s astonished faces, I know Ian’s just rolled his eyes at that sentence. ‘Right our wrongs’ must have become his most loathed feeling, what with the times I’ve expressed such thoughts to him openly. If the man doesn’t engage in a bull fight or starts yelling at the top of his lungs is because he knows I wouldn’t like it. 

“We came here uninvited--” resumes Congresswoman Reelja, unaware of Ian’s feelings. 

“And stayed even though it was clear we weren’t welcomed here,” finishes for her Congressman Oswyn. They’re speaking on behalf of most Souls out there, I know--we cannot live in here with such remorse eating us alive--but it still feels wrong inviting them all to leave this Planet. 

“Luckily, we’ve all got a shot at that,” says Congressman Fulke after a beat or two. 

We all look up at him, leaning forward to show our interest and enthusiasm. Anything that moves on from the casualties that happened because of the invasion is a blessing, most especially if, apparently, it’s a subject we’re bound to like, judging by the Council’s faces. 

Congresswoman Philipppa grabs one folder and starts reading loud and clear. 

“Bearing in mind the approximate death toll, the amount of humans accounted for and the number of human cells appearing every week around the States, we can estimate that there are still, approximately, three million humans in hiding. To be more precise, our guess is that there are still three point one million human beings hiding somewhere around the States.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation and conclusions extracted from the meeting with Council

This time not even I’m able to refrain myself as I turn towards Ian with equally teary eyes and a hope I fear to feel, the words ‘unbelievable’, ‘impossible’ or ‘incredible’ being uttered all around us. Not in our wildest dreams could we have imagined this. More than three million people in hiding--perhaps Jared’s mother and father, or his siblings, or Mel’s parents, and nobody knows who else might be hiding somewhere still. In any case, they’re someone’s parents, siblings, uncles or aunts. They’ll be very well received into the world whomever they are. 

And there we thought, for a while, we were the only survivors. That time when Mel and Jared believed they were the only woman and man left and they had a duty to fulfill almost makes me laugh and I prove it when I turn towards Mel, to my right, and I burst out laughing while hugging her. Three million who survived the Invasion, avoided ending up worse than dead by hosting a Soul, and survived all these years in hiding. Things aren’t as bad as we feared. 

Our bubble of joy is burst sooner than we would have wanted. 

“That is nice and all, we know, but this prospect actually raises a few more problems,” says Congresswoman Bickons after clearing her throat. 

“Come on, really? You only give us one minute of joy? I thought Souls were all happy and optimistic like all the time,” complains Jamie, and I join him this time, as well as Mel, Jared and Ian--they could have spared us the bad news for some more minutes. 

“There are four humans amongst us,” remarks Congresswoman Philippa. 

“And we are a kind, peaceful species, but that doesn’t mean we’re not realistic, either,” adds Congressman Fulke. “The thing is, we work for the people, and those three million humans in hiding are included. We have to find a way to help them too.”

“Because if they haven’t come out, means they haven’t heard the news, or--” 

“They don’t believe them,” I finish Congresswoman Frideswilde’s sentence. I’ve met the hard way six humans who’d fit into that category and won’t change their minds easily, unless Nicholas does one hell of a job in convincing them. 

“Precisely,” nods the woman. 

“And that won’t be solved by hanging neon signs saying ‘Please come out, we don’t want to hurt you, this is not a drill, Souls aren’t bad’ at every corner of every city in the States,” scowls Congressman Chavall. 

“No, that would actually make matters worse,” scowls Jared. “If I saw that anywhere near my hideaway, I’d immediately think Seekers were close to find me, and I’d go underground and relocate as soon as possible.” 

Mel and Ian nod, while the whole Council looks dumbfounded. Well, they wanted a taste of reality, that’s what they’re going to get what with humans here on the meeting. Yes, even I, after spending some time in hiding with my family, however brief, realize that’s exactly how human cells would react. 

“That’s something we’d like to avoid,” sighs Congresswoman Sattira. 

“And we don’t wish humans to stay in hiding in fear for one more minute,” adds Panrola. “So, there’s the rub.”

Her words are somewhat of an ending point to the meeting, because as she settles on her chair, no one else resumes talking. On our side of the table, we exchange worried looks--nothing like the state of joy we were in ten minutes ago. Two million people survived the Apocalypse and have been living in hiding. Those are better news than we expected to hear when we stepped into Congress, although now it doesn’t sound like such a good thing anymore, if we can’t help them. 

Well, it’s time we get them back. 

I lean forwards to address the members of Congress. 

“I’m sorry, but do you have the statistics on the sightings of humans for the past years?” I ask. For the first time, they don’t answer right away. 

“We can get those for you,” says Congressman Marcus, pointing at his secretary. Four secretaries in total end up leaving the room hurriedly, carrying some folders. 

In the meantime, just so we don't wait awkwardly on our chairs the return of the four assistants, we have a sort of an interlude  and we all stand and walk around, filling our glasses with water or some other beverage, or snacking from the buffet the assistants prepared for us. Ian stays by my side, even when I don't actually talk to him, nor even look at him, as I comment with Congresswoman Reelja the good news we’ve received, and later on I try to calm down one overexcited for it all Jamie without breaking his heart--he’s just thrilled to be in here and to be able to participate. 

But I knew from the beginning I couldn’t avoid Ian forever. He ends up cornering me against the wall, when I’m looking at my son through the windows of the room, seeing Nick enjoying his time playing with a lady he’s just met. 

“Wanda,” he says, meeting in the glass the reflection of our eyes. 

“Ian,” I correspond in the same condescending voice. 

“Please don’t do this.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I reply, lying blatantly--and I didn’t mean to hide it. The only thing that spares me from a quarrel with Ian is the return of those four assistants, carrying some big folders with them, and at Congressman Marcus’s invitation, we all take our former seats, with a copy of those new reports in front of us. 

Must say, I am surprised at the thoroughness of these reports--guess till a few months back, Congress, Seekers and the rest of the security forces considered a high priority any sightings of humans. These reports aren’t only classified by date and State, but there’s a follow-up on each of them too, remarking who investigated the tip, when was it investigated and the results found throughout the investigation. I’m tempted to check the sightings and investigations that took place in Arizona state, but in the end I refrain from doing so--I don’t think my heart can bear knowing how many times my human family was in danger and by some miracle, they survived unscathed. 

“Well, this is certainly a good start--some, if not most, of these sightings must be real or somewhat close to reality, places where humans are indeed in hiding. Our first step should be to send search parties and thoroughly check all those areas. Probably a good idea that only, or mainly, humans take part in such search parties. A dozen parties by state, perhaps? We can decide depending on the workload of each team, of course. And goes without saying that all of those should get some training and preparation on how to handle the missions.”

I gasp and look to my right--because, in spite of that being my idea exactly, I haven’t uttered a word, it was all Jared. To my left, I can hear Ian’s stopped breathing. 

“Wha--?” I stutter. 

“Come on, Wanda, it wasn’t hard to figure out,” scowls Jared, winking at me. 

“Perhaps you think otherwise, but you’re still an open book to all of us. After you called to meet at Congress, we called Ian and checked that our hunch was right--you were just looking for your next mission.”

“Yes, and I remember asking you to talk her out of it,” scowls Ian. 

“You what?” I demand, turning to face him. That he shouldn’t tell me about those conversations happening behind my back. . .

“Oh, please, that’s the last thing we wanted!” complains Jamie. “Why should we talk her out of something we desperately want to take a part in?”

“You’re kidding,” scowls Ian. 

“Hold on!” I beg raising my voice to stop everyone from intervening again, because this was just becoming a family quarrel that’s just out of place here in front of the Council. I then address the members of Congress with as much delicacy and formality I can muster. “I’m sorry, but could we have five minutes alone?”

“Of course,” says Congressman Oswyn, already gathering his papers. 

“No, hang on,” begs Congressman Marcus, grabbing his peer by the arm. Only a human wouldn’t give me the time I’ve asked for--the first inconvenient I see for humans to be members of the Council. “Excuse me, Wanderer, but I think we were onto something here. You sound as if you were willing to volunteer for these missions.”

“We are,” confirms Mel, simple and adamant. 

“Like hell you are,” I scowl.

“What was your plan here, Wanda? You going by yourself?” demands Mel. 

“I--I hadn’t decided!” I confess--proving to one and all my fantastic lack of planning and expectations out of this meeting with the highest institution we’ve currently got. “But you all have your families to find and worry about, you’ve no--”

“Families that we might end up finding with these missions,” Jared points out. “This might turn out to be more successful than to follow names and addresses and phone numbers.” 

“Please, I--I don’t mean to make you choose,” I beg, desperate. It’s the last I’d demand of them. 

“We’re able to make our own decisions, thank you very much,” chuckles Mel. “And you want to do this, don’t you? We all know how easy it is to talk you out of something.” 

“Either way, hadn’t you set your mind to it, we’d have come to this realization sooner or later, Wanda,” says Jared. If his statement was meant to reassure me, he manages the opposite effect altogether. “We’d never be able to settle in Denver, NYC, or wherever knowing part of our family was still out there.” 

“Wanderer, please, don’t push us away. Now’s the time to reunite our families, not split them apart.” 

Jamie’s plea is completely unfair and the boy doesn’t even know on how many levels--he’s playing with my emotions knowingly, but without being aware that just a couple days ago I prompted the separation between Ian and his father. His words hurt me more than I could ever confess and I focus on breathing in and out for a few seconds in order not to lose my mind--Ian grabs my hand, in a silent plea to force me to forget all about Nicholas and that whole excursion. 

“But, either way, I am not--” 

“I thought we agreed we’re adult humans? Able to make our own choices and, perhaps, mistakes, on our own accord?” demands Mel. 

I’m starting to see that, per usual whenever I fight with my family, I’m going to lose. Guess I still haven’t mastered the reading people skill, not even my own family. Slowly, realizing he’s not said much in this fight of ours, I turn towards Ian. The fact that he looks defeated and resigned with his eyes closed hurts me more than were he prepare to fight me on this one--I don’t mean to change him. 

“You’re suspiciously quiet--what’s your take?”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight, Wanda, even if this means another trip around the States. If we leave you alone you might end up dead.”

“Yeah, we’ll have to plan things properly to avoid making matters worse,” nods Jared and Ian glares at him--Jared doesn’t even know what kind of situation I was in less than seventy-two hours ago. Ian’s right, if I lead these missions head-on, I may kill myself, no matter how good intentions I had. “No volunteering Souls should be in danger for the looking out of humans, and we have to come up with a non-menacing plan that doesn’t convince humans they should hide and run the minute they see us close to their hideaway.”

“I’m sure we’ll figure out a way,” says Jamie, his confidence and certainty only startling me--I glare at him, anger riling me up once more. 

“You are most certainly not going,” I state. 

“You said I’m old enough!” he complains, slamming his fist on the table. 

“To attend this meeting, for Pete’s sake!!’”

Mel rests a hand on my hand--she understands none of this is going how I expected, but that’s still no reason to take it up with Jamie, in front of the Council. I take a breath and try to calm down, really try, before addressing the Congresswomen and Congressmen. 

“I’m going to need that minute alone with my family now,” I ask with pretend courtesy. 

They listen to me this time and as one, they stand to leave. My family and I keep silent and quiet in our seats while the Congressmen and Congresswomen, along with their assistants, file out of the room, saying they’ll leave one of the assistants outside and that we should call her when we’re ready to resume the meeting again.

When the door closes, all my family members turn their chairs to focus on one single person: me, in the middle of the room, in the middle of my side of the table. Even by the corner of my eye I can see their varying distraught expressions. To my left, Ian begs me to drop the subject and go back home. To my right, Mel, Jared and Jamie are just wondering what on Earth is this hold-up to the mission of our lives. I’m confronted enough to have two minds about this whole subject, agreeing, as strange as it is, with both parties alike. 

“Well, what is going to be, Wanderer?” demands Ian by my side, coldly. 

I bite my lip. That’s a very good question I should have an answer to. It’s clear as day that I didn’t prepare enough for this meeting--or, to be more precise, that I didn’t take into account the thoughts and ideas and decisions from my family members. I don’t know how to proceed where human cells are concerned--what’s the best plan, our chances of actually finding any human cells, how to deal with them without them flying as a result of that encounter. But I do know one thing, the right thing to do, and, since I’m a Soul, I’m not going to be budged from that mindset. 

Turning to face Mel and Jared--Jamie’s still young enough to just do what he’s told--I take a very deep breath. 

“You want to do this, don’t you?” I ask very slowly. 

They don’t think for a second before nodding--and by the corner of my eye I see Ian nodding too, although he doesn’t say anything out loud. 

“Of course,” says Mel on behalf of herself, Jared and probably, Ian too. “It gives us more chances to find human survivors, Wanda. Even if it’s not our parents or other family members, they’re someone’s parents, uncles, cousins. It’s worth the shot, Wanda.” 

“It’s not even a question,” finishes Jared for her. 

“And I’m not going to stop you from going, am I?” I ask, looking down on Jamie with a smile. 

He shakes his head, as confident as if I’d just asked him if two plus two equals five. A straight, simple answer is the best I could have hoped, after all. 

“The question is this one, then,” says Mel. “Are you coming with us?” 

Why didn’t I think this through? I should have realized Mel and Jared and Jamie would be sick of chasing fairytales around the States and would be only too glad to do something proactive for a change, even if didn’t necessarily involve finding their own families. Of course they’ve volunteered--and of course there’s no talking them out of this. The only real question here is why _I_ couldn’t see this reality before. I’m the only one who actually has to make up her mind about the whole thing. 

Before I get to put in a single word, I’m interjected. 

“Don’t go, Wanderer,” begs Ian, turning my chair to force me to look at him. “You’re entitled to say no, even if you’re a Soul.” 

“She’s entitled to making her own decisions, too,” scowls Jared behind me. 

“Please,” scoffs Ian, “you know Wanda. Her decisions are directly dependent on what we or the entire human race needs. That’s barely her making her own choices at all.” 

“Well, but do I get a say in all this?” I demand, because the two were having a conversation where I was the primary subject without bearing in mind that I was, as a matter of fact, in front of them. 

“Sure,” grants Jared while Ian just rolls his eyes. 

“I do have opinions, if my decisions and choices don’t count as my own,” I say, tilting my head at Ian. Before he starts explaining what he meant, because I know I’ve just twisted his words, I keep on talking. “And it is my belief that this is one mission we need to take part in.”

“Why?” demands Ian coldly. 

His tone surprises me a bit, he doesn’t usually addresses me this harshly or coldly. Plus, the answer should be obvious to him by now--as it is to the rest of my family. 

“Well, there are three million people still in hiding who live afraid of Souls. We can’t--” 

“No, that’s not it,” Ian interjects me and I frown, getting tired of it all. Mel turns my chair so I look at her now and tries to explain it to me. 

“I think what Ian meant is why you, personally, want to go.” 

“Wasn’t I explaining just that?” I demand, looking around the table. I get a nod from Jamie, but he’s my only one supporter. 

“No, you were telling us why we all want to go,” Mel explains slowly. “We as a group, as a whole family. What he, and honestly all of us, wants to know is why you, as a Soul, as an individual, want to join this mission and look for the remaining humans.” 

Still frowning, I think for a couple seconds before I start talking again. 

“Well, it’s the obvious choice, isn’t it? I can’t stay behind scratching my belly. I can help out and also, I can make--” 

“Say ‘make up for what we Souls did wrong’ one more time and I’m throwing a tantrum,” warns Ian, eyes closed, really trying to keep it cool--I can tell, however, that his warning was nothing but a real promise, and don’t finish that sentence, which was leading exactly where he feared it was. “Again, Wanda--this is not a duty, something you should feel compelled to perform because of you belonging to the Souls species. This is voluntary and you should be given the chance to rationally ponder if you want to go.” 

“Ian, I’ve pondered it rationally for days,” I insist. “And I agree, it’s voluntary--all Souls will be told that.” 

“Please, you _do_ consider it as a duty towards us humankind,” scoffs Ian. 

“I’m volunteering, Ian,” I promise. 

“You cannot honestly look me in the eye and say with a straight face that you wish to go on that adventure instead of staying at home in Denver or, heck, the caves,” yells Ian. “If you manage to do it, tomorrow morning I’ll drive myself to any of those spots where humans were sighted and we’ll stay there until we find those humans and bring them back to society. But only when, and if, you can say out loud that’s what you really want.” 

I remain silent for a long time and then I shake my head--I cannot heed the dare because I simply cannot say those words out loud without my voice breaking or showing any other signs that I am indeed lying. So I cross my arms and turn my chair, my back to him, so I can face Jared, Mel and Jamie instead--they seem like an easier battle to win.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a few days of training and preparations, the missions are about to begin. But not all groups have the right mindset to do so . . . 
> 
> Chapter rated 'R' for safety reasons, I don't know how strict the warnings are

Really, I should have known better. Had I thought about it for thirty seconds, I would have spared myself from wasting those shameful ten minutes of my life. I might be a Soul, but Mel and Jared, and also Jamie, are humans. And since I couldn’t use the ‘I’ll commit suicide’ card this time, I honestly had very few arguments to hold my case. The plan, henceforth, isn’t exactly the one I had in mind, even though it is, too. 

“Why so gloomy, Wanda?” 

Jamie’s excitement crash hurtfully against my façade as he bumps against me on the bench, meeting me at a very bad time. Only by holding Nick tightly within my arms am I able to keep my temper given the current situation--the one method I’ve been using ever since the oh-so-successful meeting at Congress. That was nearly two weeks ago and so far, despite everyone’s best wishes and promises, I just haven’t been myself, nor been able to relax. Or to surrender Nick. To anyone. I’m not good sitting on my hands and at least taking care of my son keeps me busy and distracted, even though I’m still sitting through each and everyone of the meetings we’ve been attending, twice a day. I am aware that Nick’s starting to miss his father and his father, Nick. But at least Ian finds these twice a day sessions enjoyable, interesting and somewhat exciting and amusing. I, on the other hand, don’t, so I demand to keep Nick. MY lack of participation notwithstanding. 

“I just don’t like this,” I scowl, though keeping my voice down--don’t want those around me to find out that I, of all Souls, am against the best plan we’ve come up to the date Specially when my sole presence here, even when I don’t put in a single word throughout the sessions, means so much to everybody, both humans and Souls. 

“Come on, Wanda,” scoffs Jamie. 

Ian, on my other side, looks like he wants to add something along the lines of Jamie, but he keeps quiet, and allows the kid to do all the talking that won’t convince me anyway. 

“Jared came up with the plan and we’re all contributing to make it better. It won’t go wrong, it just can’t.” 

“I feel insulted,” scoffs Ian, an interjection meant to make Jamie laugh, but all Ian gets is a dead-pan serious and cold glare that almost gets me chuckling. 

“At least this plan won’t put anyone in danger.” 

That is a low blow that affects Ian and I simultaneously. I almost want to kick myself and hurt Jamie in the process. The fact that I was captured and held prisoner for five days by Ian’s father’s peers was supposed to be kept a secret. I knew that ‘cause I was the one to make such decision before meeting Mel and the others again. And yet it slipped my mouth on the third day of instructions, when I was this close to throw in the towel. Jamie had been ranting on and on about the wonders of the plan and my nonsensical worries. The words were out of my mouth before I could stop myself--I regretted them the next second, of course, but it was too late. Mel had stood up, walked right up to Ian and without adding another word, punched him in the face. 

Had something like that happened back in the caves, a good-hearted laughter--mainly, but not restricted to, from Kyle--would have erupted and eased the tension amongst the spectators. But nothing like that happened and the dining room felt unusually quiet, everyone staring at Mel and Ian and our table in general, making it a whole deal worse. Ian didn’t even try to explain himself or fight back, as if he’d deserved that treatment; I couldn’t look up from my feet; Mel seemed just about ready to kill Ian and every other human in the living room; Jared had to actually drag Mel out of the dining room before she did something she’d actually regret, in front of so many innocent and naïve Souls who didn’t understand a thing; and Jamie followed the both of them quietly, not without giving Ian a hurt glare filled with resentment and blame, which actually felt worse than the punch Ian had received--or maybe I was just saying that because I hadn’t been the target of Mel’s blow. 

Ever since, it’s been hellish for Ian and Mel to stand on the same room at the same time, much less sit on the same bench or row throughout one whole session. Also, the risks we could take upon going off onto this latest adventure still remains a delicate issue--reason as why we mutually avoided each other for the past days. 

“Jamie,” I beg, forcing him to sit down again in order to keep him from harm’s way. I know Ian would never hurt Jamie for what he said, but Jamie’s reaching that age where I won’t be able to stop him if he does get into a fight--better keep him away from those experiences. “I just don’t like it because of the implications of the plan, OK?” 

He frowns at me. “Looking for the remaining humans and helping them back into civilization?” 

I roll my eyes at that and turn towards the instructor, although I haven’t listened to one of his words in the past two hours. I can’t explain it to Jamie, I haven’t even been able to make Ian see my point of view: now more than ever do I realize that Ian and I do come from different backgrounds and different species. Now, when we should be doing nothing but rejoicing the amazing bond between us. 

To humans, to my family members, sure, this latest adventure represents exactly what Jamie’s just said. To me, not so much. First, yes, certainly, a lot of Souls have showed up willing to assist humankind, but I realize not so many of them will be up to go on such adventures around the States to find those remaining humans in hiding--since it’s not our duty anymore, and humans can’t ask that of us, and we Souls can’t either ask that of our peers. Second, Souls should be aware of the risks that going after human cells entails. That hasn’t been mentioned at all throughout our instruction sessions, but I’ve got only too present the risks Souls will take if they join in on these missions. I wouldn’t mind being the only Soul who learns such risks in the hard way and I’d do anything within my power to make that a reality. 

“Wanderer,” a man kindly says by my side. Knowing he’d show up eventually, I sat by the aisle on purpose, so I wouldn’t bother that much those surrounding me. “Would you like me to take Nick now?” 

This is an interruption that’s long overdue, but I do realize it doesn’t solve everything by distracting the three of us from our previous argument. Ian shifts on the bench, close to asking, I know, if he could have a minute or two with Nick. On the other hand he knows it’s time for our son to be fed and doesn’t want to interrupt the lesson with a family quarrel. I don’t say a word while he ponders and in the end he leans towards Nick to kiss him on the forehead. 

“See you in a bit, honey.” 

“Can you make sure he eats his vegetables?” I ask the male Soul, handing him Nick. 

“Of course, Wanderer,” he says. 

Ian, uncertain, takes my hand as the man takes our child without much of a fuss, to both our surprises--he’s incredibly good and polite with new people holding him, it appears. I inhale deeply and make an effort to listen, just this once, to the instructor. Hearing him talk about how to engage humans in hiding only makes me regret the decision, since my anxiety spikes again, and I slip into Ian’s arms, who welcomes me warmly and tenderly. He might not understand my reasons, but he’s always there by my side to support me. 

Finally the session--and the instructions--comes to an end and we’re jolt awake from our little bubble of peace. 

“Now we’ll proceed to the classification of the groups. Please make sure your names and groups are correct before leaving.” 

As we all slowly stand from the benches and file out of the room, we meet Mel and Jared and find a place to seat in the adjacent rom. Jared and I have taken up the mediators role as we sit between Ian and Mel and force the pair to at least look at each other. They’ll be members of the same group--a rash decision we made before they knew what happened with Ian’s father--and they need to make up at some point. For now, however, having them sitting together is as much as we manage; Ian proves so by taking out his cell in the middle of nowhere. Takes me only two seconds to realize he’s texting Kyle and I look the other way, not really interested in knowing how _that_ particular conversation ends--since Kyle didn’t even consider volunteering for the missions to, I don’t know, look for his father. 

My worst fears are proven right when, less than a minute later, Ian slams his cell against the table, shaking his head. He looks around, as if waiting someone to agree with him on being against Kyle, when he remembers he hasn’t got much support around here lately. Mel doesn’t even look at him, Jared sighs deeply in regret and Jamie’s only worried about the juice he got from the vending machine. 

I reach for Ian’s hand--every time I see him and my sister’s awkward relationship my stomach twists in agony. I don’t let him go, but I don’t say a word either until our group number, 003, is called out and Ian nearly jumps out of his chair to go fetch the envelope that’ll tell us where have we been assigned to. And I’m going to seize the chance too. 

“Listen, all of you,” I demand, keeping my voice down just in case, “I’m already in two minds about this whole thing and if you don’t make peace with Ian, I’m calling it quits for real.” 

“Wanda, it’ll blow over,” Jared tries to amend, not very successfully. “Just give it time.” 

His easy-going manner does not do good with my temper at the current moment. 

“And time is exactly what we don’t have. We’ll be leaving in two days, guys, and will spend together every second for the foreseeable future, so we might as well work it out now. Start acting like the family we truly are, deep down.” 

“It’s not that easy,” scowls Mel. 

“Yes, it is!” I yell, almost wishing I could flip the table over. “Just stop being so resentful and move past something that didn’t happen because of Ian!” 

Now Mel’s the one to slam her fist on the table to cut me off--but she also gets the result that those volunteers seated in adjoining tables turn to look at us bewildered and simply incredulous that I of all people should be involved in a fight with humans. 

“Not his fault?!” she shrieks. “Wanda, in the time we’ve been apart looking for our families, you’ve been hospitalized because of an emergency extraction and insertion and then held prisoner for five days straight and who knows what else they put you through in that bunker!” 

“They never laid a finger on me,” I dare to whisper, but I know immediately it was a very low blow coming from me--I’ve never hold a grudge against any members of my family because of the things that went under when I arrived at the caves and this is not the time when I’ll start doing so. “And either way, you’re blowing this completely out of proportion. It’s not as if he pulled the trigger or put the shackles on my wrists!” 

“Shack--” 

“Wha--?”

“It was a figure of speech,” I amend immediately before they start getting any ideas and new reasons as why to hate Ian. “What I meant, those incidents weren’t Ian’s fault.” 

“How could it NOT?!” shrieks Mel again. 

“Wanda, we did agree there wouldn’t be ore losses, but also no unnecessary risks,” Jared resumes, strangely taking the role of reason here today. That was indeed the agreement issued by the Council after my first meeting with them. “Seems to me that what Ian did--” 

“Thanks for proving my point! No Souls should be here, volunteers or otherwise!” I nod in a whisper--my words wouldn’t do good with the general morale if they were heard. 

“Well, what is it, Wanda? Were you ever in danger, or are humans truly as dangerous as you say?” 

“Don’t twist my words,” I forbid Mel. “And like I’ve said multiple times already, Ian never put me consciously in danger.” 

“You didn’t answer my question,” Mel remarks. 

“‘Cause that’s not the question to ask.” 

“What is, then?” asks Ian, showing at our table then. Considering the amount of time we’ve been arguing, it’s surprising he didn’t come back sooner--and his look makes me realize he just took a detour getting to our table. Without saying a word, he hands the envelope to Jared and sits on his place again. 

As Jamie and Mel lean forward to read the envelope with our assigned location and all the information the Council and former Seekers could provide, Ian bumps gently against me. 

“So? What was that impending question?” 

I shake my head slowly, forcing a little smile. 

“Nothing,” I lie, grabbing his chin so I can give him a quick peck on the lips--knowing that gesture’ll shut him up for the time being. 

I manage that goal, but only momentarily. The question bugs Ian more than I thought it would, dragging it all afternoon, throughout dinner and upstairs in our room where we hope to get a long night’s rest with Nick between us. I, for one, hoped we’d had our last argument but Ian still brings back the subject. 

“Why are you doing this?” he whispers looking down on our son. 

“You do know that’s not the question we were talking about downstairs,” I point out, more to distract him than anything else--and my weak attempt fails. 

“I do, but I also know you’re not going to tell me what that question is, nor answer it, so I’m popping up a question of my own to you. So? Why?” 

“You mean the attending those lectures? I've no idea,” I chuckle. After three whole days of presentations concerning the sightings of humans up and down the States and varying lessons on how to properly approach them once we find those cells, we came to the conclusion that we'd act according to our common sense and how each of us assessed the situation at hand. Which means, the past three days have been an absolute bore and a useless waste of time for one and for all. Good luck were the last words of goodbye--that says it all. We are not ready or prepared.

“You bloody well know what I meant.”

“What? Helping humankind? It’s the right thing to do.”  

“Less than one hour ago you rolled your eyes when Jamie said those same words.” 

I can’t deny that--he was right there. It is true that I am in two minds about this, but the one thing I know is that, in spite of my feelings and fears, I cannot back down on this mission. People still need me. And that’s a Calling I can’t turn my back on. 

“You’ve already changed the course of this Planet once, Wanda. Twice, counting the moment you chose the Earth as your new residency.” 

“I wouldn’t count it,” I whisper. 

“Of course you wouldn’t,” he scowls. “My point is, you don’t have to do it a third time.”

“You don’t understand,” I reply, a bit desperate now. I need him, of all people, to try to understand my point of view. That’s all that matters to me now--all I need to get up tomorrow morning and head I don’t know where to start our latest mission. I kneel on the bed to be eye-level with Ian and bargain with him better. “This is my Calling, whether I knew it before coming here or not. People, both Souls and humans, need me. I cannot not listen and do nothing.” 

“You’ve already done something, more than you should, more than was asked of you from the start--all for thousands of millions you don’t even know!” 

“Hey, I’m doing this for the people I know.”

He remains silent for a second or two, uncertain of how to continue the argument. 

“You’re just trying to twist my words and confuse me, aren't you?”

“I’m doing this for the pople I know… And love,” I add as I dare to sit closer to him, giving him a pretty clear clue of whom I'm talking about. “Even if we tried, we could never just go back to the caves or Denver or wherever and settle down. There’s no way we could live our lives while knowing millions of humans were still in hiding. So let’s do our duties first and then we can talk about settling down with a clean conscience.” 

Ian ponders for a little while, looking down at me and at our son. He raises a hand to caress Nick's forehead, aware he won't wake him up--the toddler's still unaware of the dangers and struggles beyond his little bubble of peace and joy. 

“I knew you’d convince me somehow,” he sighs in the end, defeated. “Even when I wanted to refuse the mission. Even when you don’t trust the mission yourself.” 

“Well, I couldn’t exactly leave for who knows where in Kansas when one of our teammates’ head wasn’t in the game. And while you’re at it, you have to try and make amends with Mel.” 

“That’s like asking an ant to fight a hurricane,” he scowls. 

“Will you please try?” I beg with teary eyes, sitting up on the bed to be eye-level with him. 

“Dammit,” he scowls, avoiding my eye. “You know I can’t say no to you.” 

“That’s why I’m asking.” 

“So you are comfortable messing with me and being selfish with me.” 

“More than comfortable,” I chuckle, leaning in for a long, wet kiss in the lips, one that I'm sure, will in the end change his mind.

“Fine,” he scowls when I break the kiss all too early for him. “I'll talk to her. Just for you.” 

“Thank you.” 

Before I can kiss him again, however, there's a soft knock on the door. Knowing, judging by the hour, that this won't be a social visit, I lay Nick on his crib while Ian answers the door for Jeb. Without saying a word he invites the old man in and only then do they shake hands. He gives me a peck on the cheek and stops by the crib to stare at Nick with wonder in his eyes. 

“Can we offer you something to drink?” I say. 

“I think it’s best if I just cut to the chase--it’s late and we’ve all got an early morning tomorrow,” says the man. “As you know, I've been assigned to the north of Illinois, so I'll stop by and meet your father too. If that's alright with you?” 

“It's more than alright with me,” scowls Ian. “Do you know where are you going exactly?” 

“Wherever it is, we’ll make time to stop by Alcova Lake. I was just thinking--is there something I could tell your father, and perhaps his peers, to tell them we come in peace?”

“Of course.”

Knowing that the two men can linger for a while, I say goodbye and hit the shower. I let the warm water cleanse all of my body and try to make a mental exercise for the water to take away my worries and doubts also. All in all, it’s not really a short nor productive shower. 

That is, until Ian joins me. I don’t even hear him stepping into the bathroom, taking off his clothes nor entering the shower, which scares me a bit, remembering how silent and cautions humans can be when they want to--but I can never truly be scared of Ian. As his hands embrace me by the waist and he leans his head to kiss the side of my neck, I lean against him and grab his hands. 

“Jeb?” I ask. 

“He’s left already.” 

“Crap, I wanted to say goodbye,” I scowl, trying to push Ian away. He doesn’t budge a single inch and keeps his tight embrace on my waist. 

“That’s alright,” he tries to soothe me. “He didn’t want to bother you. He wished us good luck and promised that we’ll keep on touch.” 

I nod a couple times, but still there’s a knot in my stomach. There’re so many things to feel bad about that I simply cannot tell why I’m feeling blue right now. 

“And to trust the mission,” Ian finishes Jeb’s message. “And you should, Wanda. It’s all going to be alright.” 

I’m tempted to tell him that he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. That everyone who joined the mission is blind to the real dangers of the journey we’re taking on. That looking after humans who are in hiding and still think of us Souls as the enemy, and perhaps of humans too, is almost suicidal. But Ian knows all of it--he’s probably one of the only people who signed up who knows exactly the risks we’re taking on. And I’m way too tired of fighting and arguing already--that’s all we’ve been doing for the past days and presumably all we’re going to be doing for the foreseeable future. I just want to be at peace for a little while, even if it’s just a whole night with Ian by my side. 

Without a word, I nod against his chest and reach for the sponge. He takes it from my hands. 

“Allow me,” he begs, pouring quite the large amount of soap on the sponge, dragging me couple feet away from the stream of water and starts rubbing, ever so gently, the sponge against my shoulders, in slow circles. He then goes down the spine, massaging all of my tensed muscles, knowing better than to ask about my nerves or to try to calm me down again. What he’s doing is more than enough--and soon enough my mind can’t recall why I was so upset and distressed a couple minutes ago, having other preoccupations and needs instead. 

Turning around and grabbing the sponge from his hands, I plan to return the favor to Ian, massaging his shoulders, neck and torso, but I don’t really get too far with it before I drop the sponge. Part of me feels bad for not offering him the same treatment he’s just given me, but I can compensate him differently, I reckon--kneeling and taking him into my mouth. He is, too, instantly caught up with other thoughts than the mission starting tomorrow, proven with his moans and him uttering my name over and over. He tangles one of his hands on my hair and rests the other on the wall for support. In just a couple of minutes he finally gets that sweet release and finally relaxes for good--his member now flaccid on my mouth. 

He helps me stand, still panting slightly. I didn’t manage to swallow all of his cum and I’m still wiping it off from my face till Ian leans to lick it all off from my lips and chin. When we stop for air, I read his intentions through his eyes. 

“Nick,” I whisper, pointing with my head at the master bedroom. I already feel guilty for the amount of time we’ve left our son all alone in the bedroom. Wouldn’t want any accidents to happen on the eve of our leaving because we just needed some alone time. 

“Uh-uh. I want to return the favor,” replies Ian before I say another word. “He’ll be all right.” 

“How can you tell?” I demand, trying to impose logic, but I don’t get an answer this time. 

He spins so I’m standing where he was standing before and kneels in front of me, his hands never leaving my body--caressing me on his way down, but also pinning me gently against the shower walls. I rest on my back but soon enough, after Ian’s very first warm licking, I wish to have something to hold on to, and I settle on Ian himself in return. I grab his shoulders tightly and he corresponds by accessing deeper and rougher, making me moan--and hope that these walls are thick. He’s intense and relentless, a bit faster than our usual pace, getting me on edge in just a few minutes. I have to swallow back my moans as I climax, desperately trying not to think about Ian down there drinking most of my juices. He doesn’t help matters when I look at him and see his chin all covered by my cum, just like I was a few minutes ago--and I know it’s just some kind of payback so I can tell how that sight affects my sex. Just like Ian did before, I lean to lick my own cum off his lips, chin and cheeks, dramatically exaggerating the movements and the excitement. 

Knowing I was teasing him, Ian flashes a smug expression at me. He then stands very slowly, never letting me go--he noticed how I’m shuddering all over, and I would have fallen to my knees already if I weren’t resting against the walls. He reaches a hand to turn off the water and I can tell his next move will be to get the towels for the both of us. 

I cross both my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. I can feel against my thigh how he’s up and ready for round number two--and I am as well. 

“Wanda,” Ian tries to stop me, but I know he’s just concerned about me. 

“Don’t say anything,” I beg him, teasing his cock with my entrance. “Please, Ian, I need you inside of me.” 

“We’ve had a couple of rough days,” whispers him, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“No, we haven’t,” I scowl, starting to move my hips up and down. The invitation couldn’t be clearer and Ian has to close his eyes in an attempt to keep calm. “And we might not get another chance for who knows how long.” 

That last argument’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back for Ian, as he realizes what with Mel, Jared, Nick and Jamie’s presences we won’t have time for ourselves in the foreseeable future, at least as long as the mission lasts. 

He doesn’t think it twice before hugging me by the waist, holding part of my weight. He enters my slit with a single thrust, smoothly thanks to both our cum accumulated. I moan as he settles for a slow and intense pace in and out of me. After a couple of thrusts I’m able to join his pace and I wrap my legs around his body, linking my ankles behind his back, for better access. 

We take our time to enjoy it, slowly building up our climaxes. Our moans are barely hidden by the stream of water falling by our side and our continued string of kisses. Sometimes, trying to keep this going longer, I find myself biting Ian’s near or shoulder--the only kind of situation where I’ll ever be able to hurt him at some degree--but since he doesn’t complain at all, I rest assured. 

Then again, at some point Ian lowers the rhythm of his thrusts and works more with his tongue on mine--and I realize he’s thinking about cold thoughts in order to last as much as me. He always does that while we have sex. His ‘we climax together or we don’t climax at all’ policy is irritating sometimes, but it is also kind of cute, and I just need a few more beats to be on the edge once more--we then climax together. 

We also calm down together, per usual. He gently pulls out of me and holds me in his arms so I don’t surrender on the floor. Gasping, throwing our hot breath against each other’s faces, we do not move for several minutes. 

“Thank you for that,” he whispers against my neck. 

I shake my head, taking his chin gently so he looks at me in the eye. 

“Thank you,” I reply, giving him a quick peck--too tired to give him anything else anymore. 

He doesn’t let me down as he takes me towards the stream of water so we can get ourselves cleaned up and finally leave the bathroom. When we come out, still tired and wet from the shower, wrapped up in the towels, I can check by myself that Nick’s still sound asleep on his crib and hasn’t even noticed our long absence. I smile against Ian’s chest as he rubs my arms, in an attempt to keep me warm, before dragging me to bed. We are without a doubt more than sexually satisfied for the first night in so long--and probably for some time to come, too.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our family leaves for the Rocky Mountains in Colorado. However, the mission isn't exactly off to a good start...

And it’s back to Mists Planet again. Somehow we just can’t settle down and after a short break at Washington DC, we find ourselves back in the middle of nowhere, southwest of Colorado State, surrounded by nothing but thousand different color schemes of white, naked trees, snowed mountains and, foremost, an eerie silence. Once more, the similarities with the Mists Planet are strikingly beautiful. 

The very day after the location assignment per group, we left Washington DC for Denver, Colorado, and then we took a caravan and a Jeep to head south of the State, almost touching the intersection between the States of Arizona, New Mexico and Utah--right in the middle of the Rocky Mountains, in the midst of winter. If we wanted a change of scenery from the desert, we certainly got it. 

We set up our temporarily at the approximate coordinates that were given to us in the envelope: a simple camping, really, with three tents, and we used the caravan as a nursery aimed at Nick specifically, although it’s big enough for all of us to sleep in comfortably, should we get tired of sleeping on the cold, hard ground. After erecting the camp and securing it all with rocks and a fire, we set off with the compasses and the map, divided by square feet, to investigate and examine every inch of our surroundings. 

It’s been six days now and we’ve found nothing yet. Sure, we could speed up the process a little bit if Nick weren’t with us, him having to sleep regular hours and having to be fed and entertained takes us a lot of valuable time, but absolutely no-one dares to remark on it out loud, not now that things are--well, the word better is stretching it, but at least we don’t need to look over our shoulders as well to make sure Mel hasn’t slaughtered Ian behind our backs. 

Ian took my advice and took advantage of the one-and-a-half hour flight to talk to Mel, supervised by Jared so the two wouldn’t kill each other for not being under supervision, to come to terms and reach an understanding, to put it mildly. I still don’t know the exact terms of said agreement, both of them refuse to talk about it, but in any case, at least it allows us to work almost as a team, so Jamie, Jared and I’ll take it gladly. Hence, Nick slowing us down isn’t our first and foremost inconvenient. 

All of a sudden Jared stops mid-track and crouches, looking intently before him. Mel, Ian and Jamie do the same and I follow suit after two seconds--blind to whatever’s caught his attention. 

“What’s uncle Jared doing, Mommy?” says Nick, his way of asking what is Jared doing and why have we stopped. 

“Hush now, honey,” I beg in a whisper--I don’t want them to get distracted from whatever they’ve seen because of Nick. He listens, though. 

“There,” says Jared all of a sudden, pointing at something a few feet in front of him. 

Now I can tell we Souls couldn’t have pulled this mission on our own. We know nothing about tracking down people in general, much less humans--we wouldn’t have found a miserable clue in our assignments even if we had a hundred years to look for it and someone was shining a light towards the damn thing. I know I would have been lost into the woods had I been alone--now that Mel’s no longer inside me, her knowledge, skills and advice after years of hiding and running are gone for me too and once more I realize I couldn’t have survived out there without her. 

“What is it?” I demand, reaching Jared’s height panting slightly. 

I follow the direction his finger points at, but still I’m not able to see anything. There are other clearing in this woods, and other rocks like those covered in snow, creating strange and beautiful shapes all together. 

“Yeah, I’m going to need more than that.” 

Mel steps forward, looking down at her feet, and at some point she stops all of a sudden. She gently swipes her foot on the ground, making the snow draw away--and then I see it. There’s an amount of little branches gathered there that cannot be natural. Plus, some of them are burnt and I can vouch there must be a small pile of ash down there too--even I can figure it out now. 

“The sightings on this area was the smoke of a campfire lit,” Ian reminds me, although I know the report by heart by now too. Since no authorities or neighboors had been warned about any visitors or mountanists going up to the area, Seekers were called out immediately. None of the search parties, let’s call it like that for the sake of the argument, ever found anything. 

“How’d you see it?” I demand, still in awe, stepping closer. 

“Look closely at the rocks,” says Jared, pointing at them again. “They’re lined up in a too perfect circle around the campfire. That doesn’t happen naturally.” 

“So we’re looking at a cell consisting on five--perhaps six people,” says Ian, kicking one of the rocks and counting out loud how many of those surround the ancient campfire. I nod, counting as well six people, if we assume each of those was used by one person as a pillow or somewhat of a resting mattress. 

“Don’t be stupid and look again,” scowls Melanie. “There was at least one lookout.” 

Ian nods a couple of times, acknowledging his error without mentioning, or reacting at all actually, to the way she’s talked at him--if he did, we’d quarrel without end and forget our mission altogether. In the end, we all know that no human cell would be able to sleep all night long without a partner keeping watch out for Seekers or any Soul, really.

“So? Should we restart the tracking from here?” I ask, taking out the map. 

“Nah, it’s too late now,” replies Jared. “Better have an early morning tomorrow. Plus, this way we can report the good news to the Council and the rest of the explorers--might lift up the spirits, too.” 

I nod--we certainly could do with some lifting up of spirits. Although we knew in advance this mission wouldn’t be easy, it was a little bit heartbreking to hear day after day that no other group had made any discoveries. As of today, we’re only the third group in all of the US to find something tangible. 

Correction: we’re the fifth, incidentally. We are trying to be methodical this time and so every night we all have to communicate the news--or lack thereof--to the Council, in order to receive some instructions back or just a simple ‘proceed the tracking as planned.” Tonight, we found out that group number 1401, from Oregon State, stumbled across traces of humans--in the form of empty cans dropped on the ground. 

“Well, if there’s one thing that I know, is that you wouldn’t track down Souls like that, not in a million years,” I scowl after hearing the news. 

“Yeah, well, we’ve still got a lot to learn from you,” says Mel, tilting her head. 

“I’m sure you’d do just fine on your own,” I promise her kindly--we’re actually trying to give this Planet back to humans since we know they’re smart and advanced enough to be by themselves from now on. 

“No, we wouldn’t,” insists Jamie, grabbing my hand. I’m not sure if his words and that gesture have second meaning, as in if he’s trying to ask me not to even think about leaving them again because they still need me, but I don’t have time to decipher it all, since it’s then our turn to communicate our news to the Council, in order to receive some instructions back or just a simple ‘proceed the tracking as planned.’

Our next task is to relocate the camp to the place we’ve found, so we can resume the tracking down from the one spot we know humans were at, who knows how long ago now--no more than six months, Jared estimates, and we can all trust him. 

So, even though we’re tired and we’ve just made some extremely relevant discoveries, the day isn’t over for us yet: we all jump into the caravan, Ian driving the Jeep behind us, and head for the spot we found the campfire at. We park the vehicles some feet away, in order not to destroy the evidence, close to the frozen lake so we’ve got a source of water nearby--not that we’re short on supplies or have a problem with the three-hour drive to the nearest town. 

Then we get out to set the camp again--with a minor absence, since Nick’s fallen sound asleep after I fed him. Overall it takes us a whole hour and a half and then it’s time for us to eat too. We keep it simple, just too tired to start cooking now in the middle of the forest: we stick to lentils soup cans heated on the caravan’s microwave. 

Also, knowing there are in fact humans nearby to our position--before today it was merely a vague hope--does something funny with our moods: we daren’t to light a fire or make any loud noises. Even though we are trying to find the cell, we also know that as soon as they spot us looking for them, we’ll be giving them heart attacks and, because at the end of the day we all belong to the same side, we’d like to delay that situation as much as possible--in spite of knowing it’s not avoidable for ever. 

As we prepare our dinner Ian grabs the phone again--and we all know why. After failing at contacting Kyle he tries three more times on a row, till it pisses of someone in particular. 

“Oh, knock it off already,” scowls Mel. “If they have news they’ll contact you.” 

“Well, sorry for wondering how my father’s doing,” Ian replies, his back facing Mel. 

“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re all out here looking for our families, Ian, not just your own. When they find your father you’ll hear about it, the same if any of the groups out there find my mother or any other member of Jared’s family.” 

Ian slams the cell phone against the countertop--but does his best to keep his cool by not turning around and avoid Mel’s eyes. As I step to Ian’s side and caress his arm and Jamie disappears out of the van, Jared makes an effort to force Mel outside too, so we can all at least eat in peace. Ian and I sit down on the table and eat our dinner contemplating Nick asleep on his crib; afterwards, I drag Ian before he dreams of going outside to the tents, trying to distance him from Mel as much as possible. They might have reached an agreement, one that I’m fairly certain Mel’s not abiding much, but there’s no reason to push our luck either. 

We head, instead, to the caravan’s ceiling. With a couple spare mattresses we’ve set up a extra room up there, comfortable enough so long as we’re wearing our parkas, scarfs, ear muffs and gloves. Lying side by side, our hands tangled, above us only a sky dotted with thousands of stars, we can pretend, for a little while, that we’re on our own again, with no impending threat coming our way. 

The solitude doesn’t really last long; some footsteps on the roof break the silence and I turn around, already knowing it’s Jamie--I ruled out Jared, I know he’s staying with Mel. I shift and raise one arm to welcome Jamie up here, by my other side. I’d like to think it’s just the fact that we’re all wearing thick parkas, but Jamie doesn’t fit in my arms like he used to--he’s grown too much and my body’s all too small. We try not to mention it out loud and Jamie gets as comfortable as he can, resting his chin on my shoulder and turning his body to face the sky. 

“What’re you doing?” he asks. 

We sigh in response--he should know what we’re doing up here. But we do try not to give him a too condescending answer. 

“Just enjoying the view,” I say, pointing to the sky. “Tell me, what do you see?” 

Jamie looks up and stays silent for a very long time--knowing what I’m truly asking, after all those informal lectures. We did spend, after all, so many nights outside the caves, doing guard duty, staring at the star-filled sky and sharing thousands of stories. 

“Around one and two o’clock,” I say, trying to hide a chuckle, because Jamie was just looking another place altogether. He squints his eyes, as if that’d help him at all, and that does make me chuckle. I turn towards Ian, on my left, and see him with his head tilted to one side, trying to see what I, for once, can see but the rest cannot. “And you?” 

“I see the Big Dipper, if that counts.” 

Again I burst out laughing--that’s not what I meant and they both know it. It’s just too easy to find the Big Dipper, I was looking for a more thorough exploration of the universe out there. 

“Nothing?” I demand, turning towards Jamie again. 

He sighs deeply, disliking the giving up on any kind of puzzles. “Okay, I’m going to guess--is that The Lion?” 

“Nice try,” I praise, “but not exactly. That’s Andromeda.” 

I grab Jamie’s hand, make him raise his index finger, and then point to the sky, in order to map, with the precise stars, the Andromeda constellation--the shape of a deformed and not at all geometrical triangle. Then I do the same with Ian so we’re all on the same page and I can satisfy their curiosity--partially. 

“What was that legend again?” asks Jamie after a couple seconds, as I knew he would. “Something about Zeus, right?” 

We hear a scoff coming from the ground and I frown--had almost forgotten about Mel and Jared for the briefest of times. 

“A lot of myths have something to do with Zeus, Jamie.” 

“Hey, those downstairs don’t have the right to participate in the conversation or listening in,” scowls Jamie, raising his voice in anger. He also settles his list of rules by kicking his foot--against the caravan’s roof. 

I grab his knee but I can’t stop him in time and he gasps, terrified--not been with Nick so much these past weeks to be constantly aware of a toddler’s presence and the difference it makes on our schedules and other actions. Fortunately, Nick was sound asleep already and he doesn’t set off crying--none of us has the enough energy left to put him to sleep again. It takes us almost a whole minute to relax again on the mattresses and resume our conversation. 

“Yes, a lot of myths have Zeus playing an active role--although not on this one,” I reply. “D’you remember any details?” I ask Ian, so he gets in a word now and then too. 

“She was a Seer, right? And Zeus or whomever punished her so her predictions, although correct and accurate, would never be believed by anyone?” 

I tilt my head, unashamedly impressed that Ian should remember so much of a legend I told him a while back. Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised to find out that Ian does actually listen to me when I talk. Although he didn’t pay enough attention on that one instance. 

“Well, that’s partially true, but the Seer you’re talking about is Cassandra,” I say slowly. “Andromeda’s mother was called Cassiopea.” 

There’s a loud, condescending scoff. “Nice one, O’Shea!” Mel bursts out laughing. 

“Could we have some silence downstairs, please?” I demand, grabbing Ian’s hand, although the man doesn’t react in any way to Mel’s words, leading me to believe that once more he’s just playing the submissive to let the mission go on. 

“Cassiopea did play a big role in Andromeda’s story. D’you remember?” I ask both Ian and Jamie, resuming the story as if nothing had happened. Both shake their heads, but I’m not sure how much effort did they put in remembering the details. Instead of pressing them, I just settle closer to Ian and hug Jamie before I start explaining the myth. “Well, Cassiopea was very vain. We Souls could never understand how could she be so vain. She was very beautiful, sure, but she spent the days bragging about it, and then she committed the gravest mistake: she boasted that she was the most beautiful woman in the world.” 

“Wait--isn’t that how the Trojan War started?” interjects Jamie. 

“No, that was the goddesses fighting over who was the prettiest,” Ian answers for me. “Hera, Aphrodite and Athena asked Paris to judge their beauties, and he chose Aphrodite, the goddess of love, so she bestowed him Helen, the most beautiful woman on Earth, for wife. Unfortunately, the woman was already married, to King Melanus of Sparta, the sworn enemy of Troy--hence the fall of Troy.” 

“That was accurate,” I nod, bumping one elbow to Ian’s side, which at least prompts a smile to his lips. “But returning to the myth of Andromeda. Cassiopea not only brought upon herself her demise, but also her own daughter’s, upon saying that they were the most beautiful women in the world, prettier than the Nereids themselves--the nymph-daugthers of the sea god Nereus. This brought the wrath of--” 

“Poseidon, ruling god of the seas,” Jamie finishes for me and I nod at him. 

“It’s not clear if Poseidon wanted to flood the country Andromeda and her mother lived in or just sent in the sea monster Cetus to destroy it,” I resume. “Bottom line is, Cassiopea and her husband Cepheus, in order to protect their country, consulted a wise oracle--who told them the only way to save their kingdom was to offer their daughter in sacrifice. With broken hearts, they heeded the oracle and chained her daughter to a rock out at the edge of the sea.” 

“That’s right--Andromeda’s known as the Chained Lady!” interjects Jamie, excited now that he knows what we’re talking about. “That monster was about to eat her but then appeared Perseus, who happened to be carrying Medusa’s head in a bag, and transformed the sea monster into stone, saved Andromeda, took her away and married her!” 

“Way to spoil the ending to a great story, buddy,” scowls Jared downstairs, although he doesn’t actually sound pissed. 

Jamie covers his mouth with one hand, looking a bit ashamed, but he doesn’t apologize. Can’t really undo what he’s just done--and he’s relaxed when Ian and I just chuckle at him for being the way he is. 

“Chained to a rock to be eaten by a monster,” says Mel. “Should feel right at home, shouldn’t it, Wanda?” 

“Mel,” begs Jared--reprimanding her for the first time when she’s been berating Ian for five days now. 

I close my eyes at that--as Ian’s laughter vanishes at once and tenses. I hadn’t even thought about it before explaining the story. Heck, it’s a goddamn greek myth and we were just trying to kill some time before going to sleep and ease the tension amongst our group at the same time. But she’s not letting it go and she’s not helping matters one bit. 

Carefully I sit up and spin towards the side Mel and Jared are. Ian reaches an arm around my waist, as a protection so I don’t fall and break my neck, but otherwise stays silent and immobile--trying not to approar Mel’s anger any further. 

“Please, stop it,” I beg, locking eyes with Mel. Never before have I felt so distant and unrelated to the woman I once considered my sister--and deep down, she still is. She just needs to work on her edges. Which is like asking for a miracle. “Let’s go to sleep. We can talk about Perseus tomorrow night,” I suggest. 

“I know about Perseus,” replies Jamie, clearly stalling. “He was one of the greatest heros and monster slayer before Heracles. He--” 

“Save it for tomorrow, okay?” I beg of him, kissing his forehead. A little downhearted he nods and follows us downstairs. 

Everyone agrees with me--at least while we’re asleep we’ll find some peace and Mel will stop berating Ian every chance she’s got. As we settle into our sleeping bags inside our tent, the one closer to the caravan in case Nick wakes and sets off crying in the middle of the night, I try to scoop as close as possible to Ian. In the darkness I can’t really tell his reaction, but I’m just a little bit scared when he gets out of his sleeping bag. But when he unzips my sleeping bag and I understand his intentions, I almost start arguing--it’s way too small for the two of us, it’s small to fit Ian alone. He somehow fits into it and just a little bit cramped, we share one sleeping bag and one pillow as we cuddle against each other. 

I wake up alone in the tent, however, cold and somewhat empty because of Ian's absence. When I get out of the tent I see only Jamie, sitting on one of the rocks we set out around the fire, the center of of camping spot. I sit in front of him on the other side of the campfire ring--and only then do I realize he’s playing with two small branches, like the ones Jared and Ian and Mel used as kindling. Doesn’t look he’s doing so good. 

“Need a hand with that?” I ask, trying not to sound condescending. 

Jamie chuckles, winks at me once and drops one of the sticks to reach for something inside of his pocket. I chuckle as well when I see the lighter on his hand--probably should have started with that. In less than a minute Jamie manages to have a proper campfire running and I extend my hands towards the source of heat to keep warm. 

“Ian’s inside the caravan, BTW,” says Jamie after a minute or so. 

I nod a couple times, appreciating the information--I was going to ask sooner rather than later. And guessing Ian’s in the midst of feeding our son all on his own, I don’t waste much time before I stand and head for the caravan. Jamie follows my suit, even though two seconds ago he was simply mesmerized by the fire he’d lit. 

Inside the caravan I see Ian seated in front of Nick on the booth, helping the toddler to a piece of apple--which means he’s almost done with his breakfast. I feel the tiny sting of remorse as I sit on the other side of the table, but I try to swallow it all down before I open my mouth. 

“Morning, everyone. Did you all sleep well?” 

“Yes!” chimes Nick, reaching his little hands towards me. Before Ian can reply he should finish breakfast first, I take him in my arms--in a big sigh, Ian hands me the plastic dish with the apple cut in tiny pieces and Jamie pokes one of them with the plastic fork for me. I help Nick to one more piece before I lock eyes with Ian and raise one eyebrow. 

“I did too, thank you,” Ian finally answers my question, but I can tell his voice’s just a little bit off. 

I keep feeding the apple to Nick in the midst of a comfortable, family silence, as we all look down on the toddler chewing and swallowing slowly, without a rush in the world--and there truly isn’t. At least, for us. When Nick’s finished the apple I let Jamie take him and I stand to wash the dishes, not letting Ian do it for me this time. 

“You done in here?” asks Mel when I’m halfway through the task, her head popping out from the caravan's door. She smiles at Nick and me and Jamie, but avoids altogether looking at Ian. Speaks as if he weren't here also. “Morning, kiddo! Will you let us eat now too?” 

“Yep,” accepts Nick, as if thinking he really got a say in the matter. 

“Well, thank you,” says Mel, bowing her head to the toddler. She then addresses everyone, making an extra effort not to look at Ian, her voice sharp and authoritative again. “Then let's go, people.” 

Jamie immediately follows her sister out of the caravan, his head dropped as if in regret or perhaps shame, but Ian and I linger just a bit--I finish the dishes and Ian makes sure Nick’s properly dressed for going outdoors, exposed to temperatures below zero. We meet halfway to the door, holding our hands, trying to smile. And another day has begun indeed, we sigh. 

Mel and Jared are already preparing breakfast--eggs and pancakes today--and Jamie’s spreading on the ground the map and pictures we were given. We all surround him to plan out today’s and the next few day’s mission, comparing the photographical map to the pictures that were taken by drones. Few days before the groups parted each other’s way, the Council sent out drones to fly over the areas in question and take pictures of the current situation, thinking it could help. To me, they don’t say much--but then again, I’m not really an asset for this mission in particular. 

“Okay, we estimate we can cover up to ten miles per day--” Jared starts off. 

“Maximum,” Ian points out, signaling at Nick with a nod of his head. “So let’s be sensible about this.” 

“Let’s,” nods Mel. “Since the human cell will need too access to a source of clean water, I suggest we stick to tracking the lake’s edge for the time being--chances are we're going to find them nearby. Think you can manage that much, Ian?” 

“Hey, insult me or say to me whatever you want to, but keep my son out of this,” scowls Ian in a whisper, hoping Nick won’t be aware of the conversation--and I do my best to keep him busy with his car toy so he doesn’t. 

“Mel’s right,” says Jared as if nothing had happened. “Chances are we’re going to find them near the lake, wherever they are. Plus, judging by the map and the pictures taken by the drones, there can’t be any caves or natural hideaways nearby the lake, so it’d be easy to spot them if they’re on an open campsite as well.” 

“We can use the drones to check the mountains,” says Ian. 

“Yeah, later on, when we get to it,” nods Mel, her voice spitting venom. “For now we’ll track them down heading north, with the lake always to our left.” 

She doesn’t ask for anyone’s opinion and she doesn’t get any response that suggests we’re all on board with her idea--but apparently, perhaps through telepathy or something alike, we’ve just established our plan for the foreseeable future. Jamie folds the map and we sit down in silence around the fire to have our breakfast.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our family keeps on trying to track down the human cell

There’s nothing but whiteness, naked trees, five inches of snow at best and the frozen lake surrounding me. I still don’t know what I’m looking for exactly--although I’ve been promised that when I see it, I’ll know. They seem to forget the tiny detail that Ian’s father’s shelter was so very well hidden that I wouldn’t have found it alone, not in a million years in those woods; and what’s worse, I think I speak for most of the Souls who signed up for the mission. 

All too late I realize I wasn’t looking where I was actually supposed to look--that is, down to my feet, to make sure I didn’t stumble against a fallen tree, a rock, or an area with a dangerous amount of snow. Whatever it is, I manage to lose balance and fall to the ground for the first time today--third time in so many days, actually. I groan as I try to stand up quickly, in an attempt to pretend nothing happened. I don’t need any more reasons to be kicked out of the mission by my own family members. 

Leaning against a tree to catch my breath for the briefest of time, I rub my neck and then my shoulder, the areas that hurt the moment I fell. 

“You OK, Wanda?” asks Jared, who’s all of a sudden by my side. He’s slightly panting, which means he came running upon seeing me fall, because he just thought it was worse than it actually was. I groan again--they’re treating me as if I was another toddler in the entourage, smaller than Jamie himself. 

“Yes, I am. Just go back to your spot,” I scowl, pointing to my right. 

“Where does it hurt?” he demands. 

“Nowhere,” I promise--but he can instantly tell I’m lying. 

“Come here,” he prompts, dragging me, quite gently for him, to sit down on a rock or a tree. He kneels in front of me and checks first my nose, then my neck, then my shoulders--must have seen me rubbing those areas. In the end he sighs, resting his elbows on his knees. “I don’t think there’s anything broken.” 

“No, I don’t think that either,” I nod. 

“You say that because you don’t want to be forced to go back and rest, or because of your extensive experience on that department?” he asks in a good-hearted chuckle. In spite of the embarrassment and everything else, I feel a little better now--we haven’t heard good mood in days. 

I shake my head. There’s no way I can answer to that. 

“Jared, she OK?” asks Jamie by my left. 

“Wanda? You hurt?” presses Mel, by my right. 

“Yes, I’m fine!!” I promise in a yell, as not to let anyone else abandon the mission because I had a pitiful fall and Jared had to make a fuss about it. In front of me, Jared chuckles, knowing the stress I’m under over something so small and trivial. 

“Go on ahead--we’ll catch up with you,” he says, and for some inexplicable reason, everyone listens to him. Instantly I hear footsteps heading north. I refuse to look at Ian, who I know is having a harder time than anyone following Jared’s instructions--but if we lock eyes, he’ll come by my side before I can order him to go on as well. 

In the end, he resumes walking, finally leaving Jared and I alone. 

“I think I’m able to go now,” I say. 

Jared doesn’t even let me stand--he grabs me by the wrist and forces me to stay put. 

“Just take ten, Wanda.” 

He’s opened his backpack by his side and has taken out the canteen, handing it to me. I’ve got one on my backpack too and don’t want to leave Jared without water, but I know I won’t solve anything by fighting him, so I give in my internal argument, take the canteen and drink a couple of sips. Upon his frowned eyebrows, I take a few more before giving him the canteen back--he doesn’t argue now either. Instead of zipping the backpack again, he rummages its contents for some seconds. 

“Jared, I’m alright,” I promise again. 

“You’re bleeding,” he says, nodding. 

I frown and look down on my hand--to see I’m indeed bleeding from a recent cut. 

“I don’t even remember hurting me,” I scowl, seeing the blood drop from my hand. Judging by the stainted snow on my feet, I’ve been bleeding for a while now, at least ever since Jared helped me sit down. 

“Extensive experience, my ass,” he scoffs, and this time I laugh with him. I've got a bigger problem than I care to admit if I didn't even notice the moment I injured myself. 

He grabs my hand carefully and raises the canteen, but stops when I stutter without much logic. 

“Don't waste water,” I pray. 

“Really?” he demands raising an eyebrow. 

I sigh deeply. Water's the last of our problems--we've used up to three or four of the minteral bottles we got from the store, since we've been picking up water from the lake. Giving up, I allow Jared to pour some water on my hand to clean the wound--although we only manage to pour more blood on the snow. 

“You've got bandages in there also?” I ask when Jared rummages his backpack again. 

“Not just bandages,” he says, showing NoPain, Inside Cleaner, Stitches and Concealer. I can’t help but laugh. He's come prepared, thinking ahead for me, I reckon. Not even Jamie’s as clumsy an explorer as I am. 

“Fine, Doctor Howe, do your magic.” 

“Thank you,” Jared appreciates the giving up without a fuss. 

He grabs my hand, leaving it hanging in the no-man’s space between us, and forces me to spread my fingers to see the whole injury--a small cut, nothing else. First of all he hands me one of the little, tastless square of No Pain and I take it in my mouth in one gulp without water, despite the fact I haven’t complained about the injury hurting, not once. He then raises the Inside Cleaner too, treating me almost like a baby--and I inhale the spray too before he applies it on my wound, making the blood slowly retreat from the palm of my hand. 

As Jared works on my injury with tender and care, slowly in order to get the still unknown procedure correctly, I realize that he isn’t treating me like a baby, not exactly. He just worries about me. This has been the first time ever he’s taken care of me this way--usually this role belongs to Ian, Jared is more of the leader. 

The conversation I heard a couple of days back between Jared and Mel, very early in the morning, probably when they thought the rest of us were asleep and didn’t realize I’d come out of the tent to fetch Nick, decides this is a right time to pop into my mind. 

“Hey, no, that’s unfair,” Jared was saying, clearly pissed off at Mel so early in the morning. “I _do_ care about her--don’t even think like that for a minute.” 

“Doesn’t sound like it!” scowled Mel. 

“Listen here--I love Wanda and care about her nearly as much as you do,” promised Jared. “The fact that I don’t hold a grudge against Ian doesn’t diminish my feelings for Wanda.” 

“But how in the world could you forgive him?” demanded Mel. 

“I didn’t say I’d forgiven him, but I have moved on from quite the irrational point of viewing things. No, listen to me--Ian didn’t consciously put Wanda in any kind of danger. He was completely unaware of his father’s motives. And for heaven’s sake, they just visited the Botanical Gardens in Denver! How could he have predicted there’d been a human hiding nearby?” 

“It’s just Ian’s duty to protect Wanda. He failed to perform his duties in so many times now.” 

“So what? You’re just going to revoke his privileges towards Wanda? He chose her and she chose him, you know.” 

“No, I’m just resenting Ian for the rest of his existence.” 

“You do know that’s not going to solve anything, don’t you?” Jared asked almost gently. 

“It’ll do good with my humor. Still trying to comprehend how you, Jamie and much less, Wanda, can forgive him.” 

“Well, perhaps it’s because they love him.” 

“They?” 

“Not me. You know I’ve only got eyes for you.” 

“You do know that saying stuff like that won’t help things, don’t you?” 

“Same way you berating Ian won’t either,” replied Jared. In spite of the subject at hand, I could hear they had been laughing, sharing some kisses--but at that moment Jared deepened the kiss. I knew later it’d come snogging, then who know what else, so before I was found there listening in, I returned to the tent and cuddled with Ian, pulling his arms around me to keep our body warmth. Hoping against hope that things amongst our family could, and would, get better with time. 

We haven’t been so lucky just yet, but still, that conversation stayed with me. We’re all making efforts by being out here. Heck, choosing is indeed giving up on something altogether. And we all made a big decision by joining the mission. 

Jared notices me staring and raises his eyes at me, still holding my hand so I don’t move until the medicines fully heal my wound. 

“You all right?” 

“Of course,” I promise, avoiding his eye now. 

“Perhaps you should go back,” he suggests, his voice low, looking down on my injury again. 

I tilt my head at that. “Yes, I figure it's the best.” 

His head shoots right up to look at me in the eye, completely flabbergasted--and still he's unable to see I was just messing with him. 

“Please, it's just a cut. Help me stand, come on.” 

He looks torn, but in the end helps me--figured it'd be easier than argue again. We take our backpacks again, check the compass just in case and start walking. 

Now that my stupid injury has been dealt with, I feel like I should make up for lost time--and so I push myself harder than I should have. More than once I would have found myself on the ground again had it not been for Jared. 

“Careful there,” he begs, helping me stand after I nearly lost balance again. “Wanda, don't need to feel bad for resting a bit.”

“I just want to join the others.”

My words finally make Jared understand why I'm rushing so much. And although he doesn't just stop walking in order to piss me off, he relaxes all at once. 

“I'm sure they'll be alright.” 

“Really? How can you tell?” 

“Come on,” he scoffs. “I'm like 90% certain they won't have killed each other when we find them.” 

“Well, my level of confidence in them is closer to the 20 percent,” I scowl, a confession that gets Jared laughing out loud. 

“I thought Souls were the most trusting species in the universe?”

“Once more, you’re confusing trust with being realistic. You’ve seen how they’ve been acting.”

He nods--he's been present for Ian and Mel's quarrels too. And, even if he wants to pretend not to, I can tell he steps up his pace a notch--I have troubles following him now, although I don't hit the ground again. 

Less than ten minutes later we find them. Mel, Ian and Jamie have stopped in the middle of the forest and as we draw nearer we understand why. I was partially right; but it doesn't make me feel like gloating. 

“I'm just saying I think we should wait them, not going back for them.” 

“Please, Ian, cut the gentleman act. You're just worried about Wanda. But she's all right and while you worry about her, we're wasting daylight hours!” 

“Can’t you just show a little bit of compassion or kindness now and then?”

“Well, I don't need to, 'cause I happen to know Wanda’s all right! Jared’s with her!’”

“Incidentally, we're both here,” says Jared then. “So we can all stop bickering now. Let’s go,” he orders coldly without locking eyes with neither Ian nor Mel, just to prove how childish their behavior was.

To some degree I envy his ability to natural leadership, honestly. Ian, Mel and Jamie all listen to him, perhaps just in order to put a stop to all the fighting--they pick up their backpacks, spread throughout the forest and we start walking again in silence. And the situation lingers for the next couple hours, when we somehow agree to hold the mission to have lunch and rest.

Thankfully, we don’t need any adult to boss us around in order to set up the campfire for lunch--even Nick contributes by bringing the smallest dry sticks for the fire. I praise him by taking him in my arms and showing a little bird nest I’ve spotted through the branches, which delights the little boy--we really haven’t taken much time to appreciate the nature and fauna surrounding us, mainly because it’s covered in snow.

But we really can’t catch our rest. Mel’s taken out the radio and chooses the signal where all the groups scattered throughout the USA keep in touch every day to report the good and, occasionally, the bad news. Unfortunately, these past couple of days we’ve had enough bad news within our group but also globally. One group in Alaska had to abandon the search due to the weather conditions, which leads us to fear in what sort of conditions a human cell could live and survive out there with one too few resources. Today we stumble across two kinds of distressing news: for one, a group in Wyoming has found the shelters four humans were hiding in--but they had all long died due to starvation. And the second one, another group in Cincinnatti has sent out the distressed signal early in the morning and hasn’t reported since, reason as why the emergency patrols have already been launched.

I do my best to keep busy, and also to distract Nick at the best of my abilities in spite of knowing he understands nothing of what’s being said--even though I have a hard time bearing these kind of news, I can comprehend why Mel and the others would want to listen it. The best news we’ve had today is that no human cells have been found. We have to face the truth: there’s only a minor possibility that we do find humans somewhere in this forest.

The report is cut off abruptly and I look over my shoulder--and shiver when I see it was Ian, of all people, the one who turned off the radio. He even looks down on Mel before he sits down again, a mistake even I know better to make.

“Do you mind?” demands Mel. I immediately start rocking Nick in my arms, trying to distract him as much as possible; he might not be aware of the things said over the radio, but I know children do pick up on what they see and hear from those closest to them. 

“Yes, I really do mind,” says the man without even looking at her, but keeping his eyes on the ground.

“You could at least ask to lower the volume first,” scowls Mel, standing from her spot and heading over to the radio again.

“But I didn’t mean to just lower the volume,” replies Ian before she grapes the dial.

Upon those words she freezes on her spot and stares at him with bewildered eyes.

“Oh, you can’t handle the truth, big man?” she demands, her voice sarcastically sweet and high-pitched that even makes me feel obnoxious for some reason; I marvel that Ian can actually keep his temper this time. He stays quiet for a couple seconds, as if pondering the consequences of explaining his reasons or keeping quiet. In the end he speaks, sullen, but I still can hear his words--although I wish I hadn’t.

“I don’t think Nick should be hearing such things. And I just know they can take quite a big toll on Wanda,” he says, words that I wish I hadn’t heard. I immediately turn around and make Nick giggle by blowing on his face, pretending that I wasn’t hearing in the conversation. I really can’t tell if my flare for dramatics has improved.

“Well then, let’s find something more appropriate,” says Mel after a couple seconds.

Her sudden kindness shocks me--I look over my shoulder again and see her lean forward the radio, turning the dial quickly so we don’t hear any news this time. She changes the channels slowly, looking for something specific.

I understand her twisted humor the second she chooses on the channel in question--a lot faster than the others, but they get it soon enough. She’s picked up a tune for children and, although I’m mildly impressed that we have so many channels out here in the middle of nowhere, right now I’m mostly concerned for Ian. Such a blatant attack is something I know Jared and even Jamie or Mel herself would have a hard time coping with--especially when Nick attempts to hum the song as well, liking the high-pitched sounds and nonsensical lyrics. Very slowly, trying to keep it cool too, I return to the campsite.

“Turn it off,” I beg Mel when I come to a halt by Ian’s side, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Come on, Nick’s enjoying it too, isn’t he?” she demands.

“Mel!” I scowl.

Ian tries to jump on his feet but, given the advantage I’ve got for standing and him seated, I manage to keep him down this time--Mel should be the one to be the grown-up here and take the high road, not Ian. But she does nothing of that sort.

“Turn it off, Mel,” says Jared, his task also forgotten thanks to the new quarrel.

She raises an eyebrow at him. The chances of Jared forcing her into doing anything are very slim, to say the least.

Suddenly the music stops and we enjoy the silence again--except for Nick, who starts weeping in my arms upon the sudden loss of his age-qualified entertainment. Jamie was the one to cut the argument by turning off the radio and putting it back on Mel’s backpack, showing more maturity than any of us.

“Thank you, Jamie,” I say. I hand Nick to Ian, maybe not to calm just the toddler but the father too, and as I pass by Jamie I pat him on the shoulder, the only kind of appreciation gesture I dare to do here in the middle of everyone. He returns to his seat sullenly--apparently tired of being surrounded by five-year-old idiots all the time.

Due to Mel, Ian and Jamie we keep under an awkward silence all throughout lunch and we’re still not speaking terms exactly by the time we’re up and ready to resume the mission. At that point, Ian volunteers--as he usually does three out of five times--to go back, take the caravan and meet us at our next rendez-vous point on our map. No one argues with him, knowing that this time apart will help him--and frankly, all of us--to actually get through another day, and I do better than to open my mouth and confess that even if it’s just for a couple hours, I miss him more than I probably should. 

When we meet again he’s already set up our camp and is preparing the firecamp; although he forgets all about the fire when he sees me, standing to welcome me in my arms, and then fetching Nick from inside the caravan so he greets me too with a big and messy kiss. As everyone else sits around the soon-to-be campfire to rest, Ian and I enter the caravan with Nick with the excuse he has to be fed and put to sleep--it’s too soon for all that, but after all Jamie did go into his tent without a word. We don’t come out of the caravan until Nick’s sound asleep--stretching it all as much as we could. 

We sit around the fire, listening to tonight’s news reports from the missionary groups. 

“Group 145, Illinois State: no news, still trying to find traces of humans. Group 122, Illinois State: found a shelter out in Camp McCormick built unauthorized. Coordinates attached to the report. Focusing the tracking on the area. Group 239, Ohio State: no news on the missionary group. The patrol’s been dispatched to their last known location but has found no traces to follow or signs of struggles. Group 411, Oklaho--” 

Mel turns off the radio this time--we’d hoped to hear good news on the patrol from the Cincinnati front, and yet we’ve heard nothing but. And with such distressing thoughts we must pluck up the courage to eat dinner, go to sleep and somehow find the strength to stand in the morning and resume the mission. I can tell that after today, although in reality it was just a little bit worse than usual, there’s no way we’re in the right mindset to perform our duties properly in the morning--or any day, really. So I decide to do something that was long overdue.

Thanks to the announcement from Congress that triggered everything else from then on, I didn’t even get to finish the whole academic year at college--seems to be a curse on my teaching experience, honestly. There were so many subjects I didn’t get to explain my students and many more a lot of Souls worldwide never got the chance to listen to. Before leaving I was asked, although I’d have done something similar on my own sooner rather than later, if I could keep on filling in the blanks throughout the mission. This empty, sullen and above all, silent evening seems like a very good opportunity to make a session with my family.

We’re sticking to fifteen, twenty minutes tops lectures, mainly because at the end of the day I’m just too tired to spend a whole hour in front of a camera, even if it is on the interest of my fellow Souls--luckily, no one’s complained yet. Since lately I’ve been going on about the history of Australia, today I settle for the European colonization of said continent and the devastating effects it had on the indigenous population from the moment the First Fleet of British ships docked on Australian shores. Ian sits opposite to me on the booth, to record me, hand me any necessary pictures I may need during the presentation or simply add something I might be forgetting. Jamie lays on the floor of the caravan and I just know Mel and Jared are listening in too because of the opened door. 

Thirty minutes later, when I’m satisfied with the lecture and Ian’s sent the recording to the Council, we all go to sleep without much complaining from anyone. Tonight, and because we always struggle when facing the dilemma of leaving Nick all alone in the caravan, Ian and I sleep in the bunkers inside of the vehicle--we only use up to one bed after all. 

Unfortunately things don’t get better overnight and Mel wakes us up by rudely knocking on the door--punching it, really. I cuddle nearer Ian and he receives in my arms, kissing the side of my neck, but this still doesn’t make Mel leave. 

“I want to sleep more,” I complain sleepily. 

“I know. I know,” chuckles Ian, burying his nose on my hair. 

But Mel insists too much and we end up getting out of bed whether we wanted or not. 

After a short but fulfilling breakfast we pack up our bags and resume the mission, headed north, the lake to our left. To cover up as much ground as possible per day, we line up side by side, about fifty feet apart from each other, and walk in a straight line and check all our surroundings--well, I’m mostly trying to watch my feet so I don’t fall and make an unnecessary fuss all over again. Apart from not discovering any traces of humans or any clues at all, our raids are filled with incessant bickering from Mel towards Ian, who time and time again, somehow, manages to refuse to answer back. After our light lunch, Jared and Mel leave to get the caravan to the next rendez-vous point we planned and then meet us halfway without proper news to report. During dinner we hear the news from the missionary groups throughout the States, which discourages us more than encourages us, and then we either settle down for some more Greek mythology stories, where everyone can participate so long they’re polite and don’t belittle anyone else, or instead Ian and Jamie settle with me in the caravan to help me record another session--focusing for now on the history of Australia, but if there’s time we’ll try to move on with Asia, Japan, Africa and South America too. This is mostly what our days are reduced to at the moment. 

Six days later, almost sixty miles covered, we’ve found nothing. No home-made shelters, no natural spots where people could hide and live in, nothing. And our success is similar to the rest of the groups across the US: overall, all that we’ve managed to find are traces of humans, but not a single group’s been able to find their hideaways. We already had to take a day off so Jared and Mel could take the caravan and head for the nearest town to get new supplies, since we were running low already--and they were devastated when the townsfolk asked them how we were doing up in the woods. They couldn’t really give them an honest answer and headed straight back instead of lingering for a bit, which would have given us more time to mentally and physically prepare for the next day’s mission, when Mel awakes us extremely early. 

We’re eating breakfast before the sun has risen from behind the mountains and we’re almost in the darkness still--I notice Nick’s budgeting a whole lot more than usual in my arms. But heck, since we’re all up and down already, it’d be wasting precious time, so we pack up and resume the mission earlier either way, a bit too sleepy to be looking for traces of humans in the middle of the forest. 

At some point after lunch I realize Nick’s been yawning for a while now--and I can’t help but chuckle. Perhaps I pushed him a bit too much today. 

“You tired, buddy?” 

“Yes,” he complains sleepy, making me chuckle. 

I’ve realized that Nick and I do slow down the entourage and that it weren’t for us, the mission would be like three times shorter than it’ll actually take us, but there’s nothing to do about it. If they could suggest that I spent the days in the caravan with Nick, they would, if they didn’t know how I’d overreact. But I usually let Nick walk with us for longer than he’s used to, so he ends up more tired than usual and someone has to take him all over to the caravan. 

“Guess I should take him back,” I say, ‘cause that’s my ultimate plan--allowing the group to have some alone time without asking, even though I think we’re all pretending by now. 

“I’ll come with you,” says Ian, spinning around and walking back his steps. Up until today he’s been the one to take Nick back, and not just because he wanted to spend some time alone with Nick--rather, he needed to spend some time apart from all of us. 

“Why can’t you just trust Wanda, Ian?” demands Mel exasperated. “If you truly loved her as much as you say you do, let her do what she wants for once.” 

“The fact that I worry about her doesn’t mean I don’t love Wanda,” scowls Ian. “What kind of nonsensical logic you’ve got up there?” 

“She’s right about one thing, though,” I interject before the two of them engage an argument with no foreseeable end--I’m already getting cold from standing two minutes without moving in the midst of the mild snowstorm. “I can go back on my own. We’ll be fine, ain’t that true, Nick?” I pat at him, but the toddler’s barely conscious to nod at my question. 

“You sure?” presses Ian, coming to a halt a few feet from me and Nick. Ready to snatch him from me at the slightest falter. 

“Hey, we did put up signs to find our way back, Ian,” Mel reminds him with a roll of eyes. 

“Exactly,” I nod. “Not even I can manage to get lost in those circumstances.” 

“Still, let me--” 

“We’ll be fine, Ian,” I reply, raising my voice a bit so he doesn’t insist anymore. “See you all later, guys.” 

I spin around and start walking before tries, and succeeds, to talk me out of it. I notice a couple stares on my neck for a little while--but after Ian’s scolded by Mel for being a lazy jackass, that feeling disappears and I hear as well footsteps behind me, headed into the opposite direction as Nick and I. In the meantime, I try to keep Nick awake for a bit longer by blowing gently onto his eyes and hair, or else he won’t be getting any sleep tonight when every adult figure who can keep an eye on him is exhausted. 

Must say, I miss the quiet. This looks exactly like the Mists Planet but is nothing but. We’re in the middle of nowhere and yet our small family can’t get five whole minutes of peace without someone yelling or making a sarcastic comment, or something worse--and yes, I’m thinking mainly of Mel. Apart from our regular sleeping schedules, we’re barely at peace any other moment of the day. I can understand why Ian likes this so much. I too enjoy being out here all on my own, surrounded by quiet and beautiful nature, with the sole company of my first child. 

Only too late I realize I spoke without knowledge or reason. I thought finding my way back would be just easy thanks to the marks we insisted on putting up every so many feet. At the beginning Jared and Ian and Mel started scratching the trees with their knives, but after my complaints we settled for tying up red, blue and yellow ribbons to the naked branches--easier spotted and this way we needn’t hurt the nature. 

But now I find myself standing in the middle of nowhere and with no ribbons, or other colors but white, around us. I can’t even locate the foresaken lake we’ve had as a reference up until now. Only trees, mountains and snow. There aren’t any traces of footsteps from us, from when we walked by this area in the morning; a dim, but steady snow storm has been falling all day. 

“Mommy?” asks Nick then. My tensing must have woke him up. 

“It’s OK, honey--we’re just taking a longer route to the caravan,” I promise him, but honestly, I’m just trying to convince myself that we’re going to find the camp. Maybe I should just retrace my own steps, try to find the others and survive the embarrassment--it’d be better for Nick, that’s for sure. 

“Wanda! Where are you going? Camp’s that way!!” yells Mel at that moment, and I spin, a bit too fast and desperate. She’s only twenty feet away from our position, her eyebrows frowned, and I run back to her spot--if she doesn’t budge from there, I know, is because she’s standing right on the path I should have taken. 

As I reach her, she welcomes me with an eyebrow raised and an incredulous face. 

“You really got lost,” she says. I don’t detect sarcasm in her voice--at least I don’t want to detect it--I think she was just stating a fact. 

“Come on, don’t make such a big of it,” I beg, grabbing her arm and walking forwards--now that I see the next red ribbon on a tree about thirty feet from where we are now. “I was just distracted.” 

“Wanda, you cannot get distracted out here! Getting distracted means making a mistake, perhaps a deadly mistake!” 

“Can’t you avoid scolding someone for more than five minutes?” 

My voice sounded truly angered and cold. Colder than I’ve ever spoken to my own sister--she’s as flabbergasted as I am. Even Nick’s keeping quiet in my arms--not asleep, he’s just unnaturally quiet. We keep on walking in silence, without locking eyes, although I don’t let my hand casually slip from her arm and she doesn’t shake it off either, which is after all a good sign. Mel then stops to untie the red ribbon from the tree, now that we don’t need it hanging around anymore, and stuffs it inside of her jacket’s pocket. As we keep on walking, I consider if, at this pace, we’ll manage to get to the caravan before Jamie, Jared and Ian have reached the next stop point. 

“Mel, I’m sorry,” I whisper a few minutes later. 

“You don’t have to apologize,” she replies. 

“No, you’re right,” I nod. “I should expect that from you.” 

She stops dead in her tracks, even more astonished now than before. 

“Me?” 

“Don’t you think your behavior from the past weeks are worth apologizing for?” 

“Not at all!” she promises, dashing forwards--almost jogging, a pace I can barely keep up with, but I try nonetheless. Mainly because I don’t want to be left alone again in these woods, but also because I won’t drop the subject now that I’ve brought it up and can’t undo it. 

“Please! You’ve been insulting and hurting Ian any chance you’ve had!” 

“He can handle it,” she scowls. 

“Only because he’s a very sweet person and an incredible patient man! Adjectives you really couldn’t pinpoint to many men out there--it’s a surprise he’s handled you berating him for so long, really!” 

“And don’t you think he deserves it?” 

“No, I don’t! Mel, please stop!” I shriek in the end, unable to keep up with her and the argument at the same time. 

She must notice, because against all odds, she stops and spins to face me. 

“It was hard to understand the way your brain works before, but I just accepted it,” she says, crossing her arms. “Now, I can’t even bring myself to do that--you forgiving Ian after everything he put you through--” 

“And let me ask you--aren’t you being too childish and immature about all of this?” 

“Excuse you?” 

“Mel, you don’t get to call Ian irresponsible or immature because of something he could never have predicted or prevented. Furthermore, in all those instances, he did everything within his power to protect me--my actions and decisions were beyond his control, for Pete’s sake!” 

“He didn’t do everything in his power to stop you!” 

“How can you tell, if you weren’t even there?” I demand. “Plus, do you even still hold a grudge against him for not stopping me from committing suicide back in the caves? No, because then you couldn’t live with yourself, because you failed to stop me too, you know!” 

“Wanda, you’re blowing this way out of proportion.” 

“No, I can tell you I am not,” I promise her--if someone’s overreacting because of what’s happened to me in the past, that’s Mel, no one else. “Besides, I’m not calling you immature for holding grudges--that’s what you humans do.” 

“Well, thank--” I interject her before she’s got the time to make a sarcastic remark that will only manage to push me over the edge. 

“I meant considering the venture we’re facing,” I resume. “We’re trying to find a human cell still in hiding. We’re trying to find and help the three million humans who haven’t had the luxury to discover this new world that’s waiting for them. We’re trying to give this Planet another chance. And still we’re bickering like stupid siblings? What sort of world are we planning on leaving behind?” 

My words seem to do the trick this time. . . For like ten seconds. She then frowns, stubborn as only a human can be. 

“You’re the one who’s set to change the world, Wanda--don’t chalk it up to me,” she scowls before spinning on her heels and headed north. I need more than five seconds to follow her out of astonishment and outrage--and somehow I pluck up the energy to not only catch up with her, but also pass by her and stand in front of her to make her come to a halt. 

“You’re just lying to yourself now, Mel!” I shriek, resting a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to physically make her stop walking. “I recall you practically begging the Council to plan these missions two weeks ago! And now you mean to tell me you were just following me? The one who you nearly discouraged into joining?! I know for a fact that I’m not that kind of a leader--heck, I’m no leader, Mel! I’m out here just following you lot! Don’t try to tell me otherwise, ‘cause I don’t believe it for a second!” 

She cannot possibly refute any of those allegations. As I pant, she tries to think of a smart comeback, but she’s completely empty-handed. I realize I’m openly fighting my sister and should feel bad about myself for it, but instead I feel quite proud that I won an argument against a human--against my own sister. 

Few seconds in, I realize Mel’s attention’s drifted off somewhere. She’s not looking at me anymore, she’s looking at something past me. And the deep frown that’s appearing between her eyes scares me too. I forget all about our argument as I turn around to see what’s troubling her. 

The next ribbon and the branch it was tied up to are now on the ground. Slowly we advance, but all of a sudden Mel stops me by grabbing me by the shoulder. I don’t understand why she’s stopped me and she doesn’t seem keen to explain things as she kneels on the ground. I do the same and stare at the broken branch with her. 

“Maybe the wind--?” 

“No,” she denies vehemently. “It was never so strong--there are no more broken branches around. And look.” 

She points forwards and I see it: footsteps on the snow. Must be recent, if they haven’t been washed away with the snowfall yet. They went directly to the tree, to the branch in particular, and there they mess up all together, until another set of footsteps heads away from the tree, towards the camp, incidentally. 

“Probably a man,” says Mel. “These footsteps, they’re bigger and deeper than ours.” 

I actually need to compare the footsteps we’ve just left behind with the ones in front of us to make a comparison and still have trouble seeing if the stranger’s are actually bigger or deeper than ours. I just take her words for it--not going to discuss now. If what she’s saying it’s true, then it all points to someone who’s at least a few more Ibs than us. 

“They’re coming and going from and to our camp,” I whisper. If my memory’s to be trusted, which it might not be right now, there’s one last ribbon, a blue one, until we reach our camp. 

“If it’s just the one, we could talk to him,” says Mel, staring at the path in front of us. 

I don’t dare to phrase the question out loud--what if it’s more than one human? And I understand why she doesn’t try to explain or suggest a plan in case we encounter more than one human. I should know, that’s why I sat through three days of lessons and useless lectures back at Washington DC. 

We stand at the same time, slowly, looking all around us. But even if the man was hiding somewhere nearby, I could never spot him--there are way too many trees that block our view, and the wind doesn’t help things one bit. More than once I gasp thinking a branch moving to the wind’s blow was a man hiding down there, in the shadows. For the first time since we started the mission, I’m truly scared. Given the situation, it’s impossible for us both to do anything useful except head for the camp. 

“Walk behind me,” orders Mel in a whisper, gently pushing me backwards. “Slowly. Quietly.” 

I nod. Now more than ever I must try not to trip and fall and not to announce through speakers that where I’m headed. Noticing Nick’s staring at me, I try to swallow. 

“Nick, it’s going to be alright,” I promise in a whisper, patting his head. “But I need you to be very, very quiet for Mommy, OK? Can you do that?” 

As if abiding my rule already, he just nods once, his eyes never leaving mine. I take a deep breath and look up at Mel, realizing she’s taken a flashlight and a knife from her backpack. I try not to shiver at the sight of that weapon--understanding that we might in the end need it for protection purposes. 

I nod once slowly. She then grabs me by the arm, forces me to crouch and starts walking, very slowly--and I wish that for once my footsteps could be as silent as hers. It takes us ten more minutes to reach the tree with the blue ribbon, the longest ten minutes of my life--I was exhausted before finding the footsteps, now the adrenaline rush is fading and leaving me completely empty. 

As I reach to retrieve the ribbon, Mel forces me down rudely, and I just kneel behind the tree, forgetting about the ribbon. The caravan’s already within sight. I’ve never been more relieved to see that vehicle. 

“How’re you doing?” Mel asks, her voice barely audible above the wind. 

“We’re good.” 

Mel nods and looks over to our former campsite again. From where we are we can’t see much, but everything looks quiet and peaceful. Of course, I know looks can be deceiving--and I know also I don’t exactly have a keen eye for traps. It’s best to rely on Mel. 

I look to my side and freeze when I see her undecided, biting her lower lip. I know there’re way too many factors that aren’t helping her making a decision. There’s Nick, for one; and there’s me, for the other. If there are humans here and they get a glimpse of my eyes, this can turn out to be a blood bath. Maybe we should go back, find the boys and come back all together--though by the time we reached the camp again there will be no signs of humans whatsoever. And if they see the whole group coming back, there could be a bloodbath either way. 

After a couple more seconds, Mel lays her hand flat in the air and lowers it slowly, indicating me to stay put. I nod and rest against the tree, looking down on Nick to make sure how he’s doing--I answered Mel without truly checking on him. He looks frightened, but he’s doing okay, and he’s well wrapped up in his coat and his blankets. Mel then stands and, keeping down, starts running forwards, zigzagging through the trees. I’m this close to yell her to stop when she kneels by one of the trees closest to the clearing where the caravan is. Raising one hand in the air, she orders me to wait--a command hard to obey. I hold my breath until, some beats later, she indicates it’s safe for me to join her. 

Hoping my steps are equally silent as hers, I zigzag through the trees until I kneel beside my sister, trying to keep my panting even. It’s getting darker by the second; we need to take a chance and move soon. Can’t stay out here in the darkness. Plus, Ian and Jared and Jamie will be waiting for us. And honestly, I want to be back with them as soon as possible, too. 

Mel leans forward so she can talk right into my ear. Even talking in whispers, I can tell she’s frightened too--her voice almost breaks a couple of times. I realize I’m forcing her to take all the decisions and that’s unfair coming from me. 

“When I tell you to, run as fast as you can. Head directly towards the van and lock yourself in there. Keep your head dropped. I’ll follow.” 

I nod, agreeing with the plan instantly. I crouch again, resting one hand against the tree, waiting for her green light. She needs a couple of seconds to decide, and although I’m looking at the same scenery she’s staring at, I can’t tell what prompts her to made a decision. 

“Run!” she yells then. 

Keeping my head low, looking only at my feet, and forcing Nick to rest his little head against my chest, I head forward as fast as this body allows me to, entering the clearing. I can hear Mel running behind me--and I wish I could be inside of her again, since we’d reach the caravan that much faster. For now all I can do is to focus and not to fall. 

I finally pass by the remains of our campfire and, seconds later, reach the caravan. I open the door and hesitate just two seconds to allow Mel to get in before locking it behind of us--trapping the three inside of the darkness, three heavy breathings breaking the silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really having a hard time writing this side of Mel, trust me... Hope you can bear with it !


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mel and Wanda meet the rest of the family to break down the news for them. In spite of the supposedly great news for our group, the mission must continue. But Mel and Ian's quarrel gets to a breaking point.

“What do you mean, you _found_ humans?” demands Jared, interjecting us halfway through our hurried explanations. 

“Not found,” replies Mel. “They found us. All we saw were the traces they’d left.” 

It’s been half an hour already since we climbed up on the caravan and made sure it was safe to drive off towards the rendez-vous point, where Jared, Jamie and Ian were already waiting for us, a bit preoccupied--frenzied, on Ian’s case. Upon meeting our states of mind didn’t improve; rather, they all plummeted. The relief of seeing them again just overwhelmed Mel and me--and they freaked out upon seeing us freaking out. Ten minutes later, a bottle of water each, we’re still trying to explain what the hell happened out there. 

“How many?” presses Ian. 

“Four, maybe. No more than six, I gather,” says Mel in a deep sigh. We really didn’t stay to investigate every inch of the camp, but when we took a closer look, inside the safety of the caravan, after we made sure no one was still hiding in there, we saw the mess that had become our camp: we counted at least four different footsteps walking up and down our former camp. 

“Should we go back and track them down?” suggests Jamie then. 

“It’d be pointless,” replies Mel. “Ten feet from the camp the footsteps vanish. They must have used a blanket or something similar to wipe them off.” 

Following the humans was Mel’s first suggestion once we made sure we were safe and sound. We actually managed to find the direction they’d come in and left, but like she’s said, the trail didn’t lead us too far before we ran out of clues. And by then we were too tired and honestly, scared and jumpy to perform a thorough investigation. If we returned now, the snowfall will have erased already our footsteps. 

“Are you OK?” asks Ian, hugging me and holding me, and Nick, tightly--I’m still shivering. 

“Ian, she’s not a little girl--she can handle this,” scowls Mel. “She’s as strong a person as the next one. Maybe even stronger than you.” 

“Knock it off, Mel,” I beg. I may be able to handle humans, but not a family quarrel right now. 

“Did you see them?” presses Jared. 

“No, but we were pretty damn close,” scowls Mel. “And they certainly saw us. They hadn’t been gone for long before we reached the camp.” 

Ian rubs my back and soothes me and Nick with warm and comforting words. I know he’d take me inside of the caravan or one of the tents right now if he weren’t so interested in knowing all the details of the story. 

“Plus, they couldn’t bloody stay for a chat while they were robbing us,” adds Mel. 

“Robbing?” shrieks Jamie. “Are you both OK? Haven’t you just said you didn’t see them?” 

“We didn’t see them,” I promise in an attempt to calm him, Ian, Nick and myself down. Really, the only ones whose heads are in the game right now are Jared and Mel--it’s a blessing to know they can still think and act rationally. 

“You’re joking,” scowls Jared. 

Mel steps aside from the caravan, letting her boyfriend access the vehicle. He looks around at the mess of the caravan, a sight that also frightened us when we turned on the lights: all the beds unmade, all the cupboards and drawers opened, our clothes laying everywhere alongside Nick’s toys and books. Just like Mel and I did earlier, Jared starts rummaging the drawers and the fridge, checking what Mel’s words had told him in advance: we’re very short on supplies again, even if they left yesterday for a re-supplying mission. 

He comes out a bit exasperated of it all, resting against the frame door. 

“Unbelievable,” he scowls, his hands deep inside his pockets. 

“Well, they must be low on supplies. Couldn’t let such a chance let go,” I try to reason, but it doesn’t do well with his current humor. 

“This means we’re going have to waste another day to get down to town and buy all this stuff again!” explodes Jared. He must understand what the humans felt when they saw with such amount of food and perishables; he’s just angry the mission will be delayed for a second day on a row, I know that much. 

“It’s going to be OK, Jared,” Ian tries to reason. 

“Like hell it is!” replies the man, kicking the side of the caravan. 

“Let’s calm down, please,” begs Mel. That it should be her, of all people, to utter such a plea comes as a surprise to one and all--she tries not to notice our stares. “I think we’re forgetting the most important thing: we’ve found unequivocal signs of humans. That’s the best piece of news we’ve had in weeks.” 

Letting those words, those magical news, sink in, we all nod a few times. The original campfire we--Jared--found was beginning to sound like a mirage every passing day and we’d started to fear if said human cell had already perished. Even if they gave Mel and I the scare of our lives and only showed up to steal our supplies, that’s proof that they’re all alive and kicking and, more importantly, willing to fight. No one who’s given up on life, given up hope, would willingly go into the lion’s dent and steal from them. Four of them haven’t, at least. 

“And perhaps that’s how we can lure them out,” says Ian after some seconds. “Supplies that they don’t have.” 

“Really, Ian? Food? That sounds more like torture than a convincing argument.” And there’s the Mel we’ve been hearing and suffering these past few days. Berating each and everyone of Ian’s suggestions and comments. Knowing, with this, we’re back to reality, I let go of Ian. 

“Well, at least they showed up,” scowls Jamie, “and we know we’re not up here in the middle of nowhere looking for ghosts. They might pop up again some time and then, if we’re ready, we might be able to talk to them.” 

“Exactly,” nods Ian, resting one hand in Jamie’s shoulder to show his support. “Now we know that they’re out there somewhere--what’s more, we know they’re keeping a close eye on us, rather than us tracking them down. They knew you two had gone shopping yesterday and realized the perfect day when they could steal from us.” 

“Come on, they could have stolen from us any day since we got here,” replies Mel, “as soon as they figured out our schedules and the time of day when the caravan would be unprotected.” 

“Why didn’t they, then?” I demand--a question that she doesn’t have an answer to. 

“They felt threatened,” says Ian instead of her after a couple of seconds. Once again, his words prompt an incredulous scoff from Mel. 

“Please, they have the numbers, the manpower and certainly the willingness. They don’t feel threatened,” she scowls. 

“No, that must be it, Mel,” replies Jared calmly, before Ian or I snap for real and this argument lingers for hours on end. “They’re seven, maybe eight, Mel, and we’re five, discounting Nick here. That’s not having the numbers exactly--plus, they chose the day Wanda, the weakest of us, went back by herself to the caravan.” 

I shiver again--I know that I’m a zero to the left and that can be spotted from a mile away, but I do not feel secure with humans analyzing us, studying me and my weaknesses, from far apart and making their own schemes based on what they’ve picked up. Although those words have the contrary effect on Jamie--knowing that to Jared, to a human cell, he’s considered as much of a man as Jared himself. As much of a threat, actually. 

“Which means, no more chaperone-less excursions for you from now on,” settles Ian, leaning to be eye-level with me. 

“Did you think we’d put her in that kind of danger again?” demands Mel. 

“Just stating a fact, Mel,” replies Ian, closing his eyes and holding me tighter so he doesn’t turn around and sees the face of the woman who’s constantly bashing at him. 

“Returning to the point--they do feel threatened. We’re one man too many. That’s exactly how we’d feel if we were in their shoes. They’re not going to engage us directly any time soon, not even if they had weapons. To them, we could all be Seekers looking for them to transform them into aliens.” 

Once more, I can’t help but shiver. I know that’s what my family used to think of us Souls--that this is what they thought when they first saw me closeby to their shelter in the desert and had a lot of trouble moving past that fear to see the real me beyond those gleamy eyes. This was also what Ian’s father’s entourage thought of me. Doesn’t come as a surprise that Souls are still the bad guys of the play. Still, can’t say I’m used to it. 

Ian rubs my back, knowing fully well that won’t help today. 

“You should rest,” he whispers against my hair. “In fact, we all should rest.” 

“That’s a great idea,” nods Jared. “Mel, why don’t you report the news to the Council. The rest of us, let’s start putting up the camp--two tents will do tonight. Although, Wanda, don’t you think Nick should be put to sleep?” 

I was just about to help Jamie and Ian putting up the tent, without actually realizing I was still holding Nick in my arms. He’s felt asleep at some point during our conversation--surprising as it is, since we raised our voices more than once. Guessing he can skip dinner tonight, I nod and, followed by Ian, we set up his crib and blankets and let him rest. We take up just one minute of staring at our child, making sure he’s actually safe and sound, before getting out and help everyone else with the camp. 

There are no stories or lectures tonight after dinner; we only stay awake the enough time to listen to the news, with our newest report included. That’s enough of a bed time story for all of us, as soon after we all head to sleep, Ian and I stepping into the caravan--there’s no way we could have relaxed outside in a tent, so far away from our son. 

In spite of our exhaustion because of tonights’ events, and even though we know for a fact our closest family members are all safe and sound, we have a very hard time falling asleep tonight--and I can tell the same thing’s happening outside, too. The news have all of us excited and somewhat terrified at the same time. 

When we wake up in the morning, much later than usual, no one has the energy to resume the mission today. Not even Mel can gather up the courage to boss us around per usual to wake up, have breakfast, pick up our things and leave--this time, we all linger after breakfast, the plastic cutlery empty in our hands, staring at nothing. It's a funny thing: we came here looking for humans and now that we know for a fact they are out there, we're close to terrified for some reason. 

In the end Ian and I volunteer to go to town and get more supplies--allowing Mel and Jared to rest for a day, since we're taking Jamie and Nick with us. We have to walk to the spare Jeep--with nothing valuable inside, we keeping the key and a lock inside, we were pretty sure it was safe to leave the car in the middle of nowhere. 

Three hours later we reach the outskirts of town. We don’t have a problem with finding the supermarket in question--and they know us too. 

“Wanderer, dear. We weren’t expecting you this soon,” the cashier welcomes us in. 

“Yeah, well, things happen. I’m sure you heard the news last night?” 

“We all did!” exclaims another one of the shop assistants, forgetting all about her previous work and approaching the cashier with a big grin on her lips. “We were estatic!”

“So you found humans? That must have been exciting!” resumes another assistant, approaching with an apron hanging from her shoulders. 

“They found us, incidentally.” 

“And not as fascinating a discovery as you think,” promises Ian, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Anyhow, it’s a first step. I’m sure you’ll have good news in no time?” 

“You’ll certainly be the first to hear ‘em,” I promise, taking some of our bags. 

“Take these too, please.”  

He's handing us an extra box we didn't select or ask for--and taking a look inside, we see it's full of perishables that could last for months, if we're careful.

“I'm sure they could use them.” 

Takes me a second longer than Ian and Jamie to understand the man's talking about the humans. He's giving us this box in the hoping the humans will keep on stealing from us--and perishables are something they could use. I nod once and shut the box, pointing at Jamie to carry it--I already know it's too heavy for me. 

“Thank you. Have a lovely day.”

“Good luck!” 

We leave the shop with forced smiles that we manage to hold until we're inside of the Jeep. And it's not until half an hour later, when we've settled at the cafeteria of the Royal Hotel's hall, when we dare to express our true feelings. After all, we are just killing time so we don't return so soon to the camp, that is, to Mel and Jared. 

Everyone greets us with warm surprise upon seeing  again so soon members of our expeditionary group. The second reaction is to congratulate us on our humongous success from yesterday. They don't seem to realize it's not such a big, or good, piece of news--we feel nowhere close to celebrating the discovery from yesterday night. 

“How could we tell them?” I ask in a whisper when all the waitresses are safely away and the rest of the customers go about their lives. 

Ian reaches a hand to squeeze mine tightly--and it appears that through such a connection we exchange all our thoughts and feelings. They couldn't possibly understand. Heck, I'm not sure I understand what we're going through at the moment. Jamie’s equally excited as he is frightened, whether he wants to admit it or not; I know Ian’s just worried about me and about how this new situation can put me in danger; and on the other hand, I hope Mel and Jared are just faking the confidence they show us. Anyway, all I know is, we may not have good news in a long time. 

“That’s okay. We don’t have to report to the townsends.” 

Can't help but to roll my eyes at Ian. That's no the answer and he bloody knows it--that's just a way to avoid the main issue. 

“But we have to respond to the Council,” I remark. 

“Well, that’s not a problem either,” says Jamie, now that his apple juice isn't interesting anymore. “They do understand our struggles and know that finding humans, and eventually contacting them, is not easy peasy. That was said from the beginning--and no one participating in the mission, member of Council or not, would think any differently now.” 

I chuckle. He’s got a point there--the people we have to answer to, those who actually matter, know all about our situation. It makes me feel a little better, even though everything looks depressing on the mission front. 

“When did you get so smart, little brother?” I demand. 

“I’m a Stryder,” he says simply, shrugging. 

“That’s fair,’” I chuckle. “Does this mean you’re up to a little bit of competition?” 

Jamie looks up immediately. He’s growing too fast, we're all forgetting he’s still an adolescent like any other and that he missed a good part of his childhood--I really try not to feel guilty on behalf of our species. Any sort of distraction from the long, cruel mission we‘re on looks appealing to him. We really have to try and spend more quality time with him. 

“You in, Ian?” 

“I know I’m bound to lose,” he replies, waving the suggestion off with his hand. “Why don't I play some age-appropriate games with Nick and then you can tell me who wins?”

I nod and carefully let Ian grab Nick, handing them all of our child's toys. As Ian settles on his side of the table, Jamie and I lean forwards on our seats, already planning our questions. 

“Oh, but you are keeping count, aren’t you?” asks Jamie. 

“If you insist,” says Ian with a roll of his eyes--knew he wouldn’t be allowed not to participate in the game free of charge. 

“Well, let’s see how well you listen to my lectures. Ready?”

“I’ve been preparing for the last five minutes. The loser washes the dishes for two days.” 

“You’re on. Prepare yourself to get your hands frozen.” 

“Less talking and more competing,” Ian interjects, knowing that with our bickering we could take five more minutes before beginning the contest. 

“Fine. You go first,” I say. 

“Don’t want any unfair advantage.” 

“And you won’t.” 

“Three minutes rounds, Jamie starts. The winner will begin the next round. Simple advantage of two out of three,” states Ian now that the rules are settled. “Go.” 

“Who was Persephone?” is Jamie’s first question.

“Daughter of Zeus and Demeter, married to Hades, Queen of the Underworld. You’ll have to do better than that, Jamie.”

“Clock’s ticking,” Ian reminds me coldly. It does help me to keep my focus--whenever I play with Jamie I tend to turn cocky and highly competitive, two adjectives not so often used when describing Souls, but I kind of like that side of me.

“Right. Sorry. My turn: dolphins have wings but, can they really fly?”

Jamie scoffs at the question, as if I’d insulted his cleverness. “No, they cannot. They’re like penguins: they’ve got these flippers but they’re too heavy to let them fly--it just helps their buoyancy.”

“Speed round, Jamie,” Ian says--his reminder is barely an admonishment, but as I tend to turn cocky and braver than usual in these games, Jamie usually gives longer answers than he should, wasting an awful amount of time, so we’re usually even on that instance.

“Thanks,” he appreciates. “What year did David Livingstone visit the African continent?”

“In 1855,” I say immediately. “He visited the country of Zhambia and was the first European to see the waterfalls of the Zambezi River. Next question--what was the twelfth labor Heracles was required to carry out, according to The Bibliotheca?”

“To steal a golden apple from--no, wait!” he shrieks before he’s disqualified because of a wrong answer. “That was the eleventh labor. The twelfth was to capture and bring back the monster Cerberus.”

“That’s correct,” I nod, looking at Ian, since he’s the one keeping count today. “Your question?”

“What is the coldest place in the Universe?” he asks immediately, in order to make up for the wasted time from earlier. 

“Known to humans, the Boomerang Nebula,” I say. “Located in the Centaurus constellation, the nebula is one Kelvin, that is, minus four hundred and fifty-eight degrees Fahrenheit.”

Our little game can last for hours, asking each other questions about all the species out there or, on the other hand, about any history period about humankind, alternating with questions on Greek Mythology and pretty much any other subject we’ve discussed at least once throughout our lectures or informal conversations after dinner. Really, Jamie’s a real good student--he picks up on almost everything just by listening to it once. I thank the thorough studies on humankind I’ve carried out since I came here to the Earth and my uncanny ability as a Soul to remember dates and historical events, or I’d make a fool in front of Jamie. He’d make a fine scholar, if we ever settle down enough to resume a normal human life, the way they were before the Invasion.

By the end of round number 3, Jamie and I aren’t the only ones participating in the game. Well, we are, because no-one but us could ever know such specific details about humankind, but we are joined and encouraged by most of the café’s customers and waitresses. Attracted by our little game, both Souls and humans have been gathering around our table to watch the exchange of questions as if it were a tennis match or something similar--they even yell or hold their breaths whenever they know an answer, which is one out of ten questions or so, adding a little bit of excitement to it. When we call it quits we also get a round of applause from all of them, including Nick, even if he doesn’t understand a thing.

“Wanderer, is there something you don’t know?” chuckles one of the customers as he shakes my hand.

“Well, it’s obvious there’s still so much we’ve got to learn,” remarks a Soul male. I did win the match, but only because I’ve got extensive knowledge about all the worlds out there and to some degree I don’t feel like I won honestly.

“I’m looking forward to listening to your new lectures,” promises a female human--her confession surprises me, I didn’t think humans could learn anything profitable from my lectures, since I’ve been explaining, well, their own history.

“Thank you. I’ll see what I can do about it, you know we’re a bit busy--"

“Of course we know,” promises the woman immediately. “Good luck, really. And thank you!”

After that we don’t take long before packing up and leaving--we don’t need neither the attention or to be in the middle of a crowd, force to speak to people we don’t know who are way more eager than us concerning our mission’s prospects. We climb up into the caravan and, with nothing else to do, decide to head back to the camp base where Jared and Mel are staying; after all, it is a two-hour drive minimum and we just get there a couple hours earlier than we said we’d be.

Of course, the change of plans doesn’t do good with some of us. Meeting up again after some hours apart, in the frightened mental state we’re in for some reason, should have meant joy for us. Nothing farther than the truth.

“Oh, come on--did you have to come back so early?” complains Mel as soon as we step outside of the Jeep.

“Hello to you two, Mel,” I scowl. “It’s great to see you.”

“I’m sorry but I can’t say the same, not to all of you, at least,” she replies, turning her back to us shamelessly. I roll my eyes, tired of it all already, knowing it was a mistake not to take advantage of the spare hours we had at town--and Ian and Jamie are equally exasperated. The former takes Nick to have his hands busy with something else than strangling Mel, the latter just drops his head and doesn’t even go to properly greet his own sister before he starts unloading the Jeep. Mel should make an effort, if not at least for Jamie here.

“Well, trust me, we didn’t come back sooner because we were dying to see you again,” promises Ian as he passes by the campfire where Mel is sitting.

“Fancy seeing you here at all,” scowls the girl. “Thought you’d run off by now, scared of the couple humans who showed up yesterday.”

Without replying back, Ian slams the caravan’s door and then locks it from the inside. I know he’s just going to feed Nick and perhaps play with him a little more, but still, it hurts a little. He could have waited for us. But we’ve got some work to do, I nod as I turn to grab one of the less heavy shopping bags.

“How was your day?” I ask Jared, hoping Mel gets a hint of what kindness looks like.

“It was fine. Didn’t do much,” says the man, shrugging.

He takes one of the heavier boxes from the Jeep and then he stumbles upon the one box the workers at the supermarket gave us as a present--meant only for the humans. It does sound as weird explaining it all as it was being in the middle of the conversation. But humans--and Souls--will always care about other humans. Even if they stole from us and gave Mel and I a bloody heart attack. But it is a good idea, leaving the perishables out in the open--and perhaps we should consider locking the rest of the cupboards and drawers to avoid a trip down to the town every other day. Perhaps this is how we can meet and talk to the humans. We do realize this is just another word for ‘trap’ or ‘rouse’ and this in no way will improve our chances of being believed or given the chance to explain when the humans find us--but guess this is kind of a risk we need to take, given the circumstances. As for now, it’s the best plan we’ve got.

After unloading the Jeep I step into the caravan--provided I knock and identify myself so Ian opens the door--and spend the remaining hour and a half before dinner with Nick and Ian, playing stupid childish games that all three of us have come to enjoy and love. Jamie joins us for a brief time before he announces dinner’s served--which means it’s feeding time for Nick as well. Ian stays with me so we can put our toddler to sleep together and then we join the others, with much less energy or joy than the staying with Nick gives us. We go to sleep with the twelve labors of Heracles as a bed time story, told by me, per usual.

In the morning, as we wake up to Mel’s martial law, routine strikes again. We’ve still got a lot of field to cover, assuming the human cell doesn’t contact us anytime soon, which they might not do at all. Considering the amount of food they stole and the very few people they are Ian estimates they might last for a whole week before they need to strike again, if they’re cautious. Of course, Mel couldn’t think the same, but as soon as Jared agrees with Ian’s statement, she falls silent. And we all get up, tidy the camp, pick up our bags and headed north for the day’s mission.

We would only stop for Nick and I to catch our breath and later on, to have dinner in the middle of nowhere--and soon after resuming the excursion, Ian would volunteer to head back with Nick and this time I’d join him. After driving to the next rendezvous point we would set up the camp again, just in time for Jared, Jamie’s and Mel’s melodramatic and angered arrival, so we would start preparing dinner already, have a short meal and zip into our sleeping bags for the bed time story of the day. Without any news from the human cell, without any other sightings, without any contacts, without any ribbons ripped off the nearby trees, or without any robberies to report.

That is the pattern that repeats itself day after day, with some slight variations--the weather, the bed time stories, the games we play with Nick and Jamie or, most and foremost, Mel’s berating of Ian day in and day out. But not much else. We’re permanently surrounded by whiteness, our days consist on extenuating 10-mile missions, we’ve no news of humans, Mel’s behavior’s starting to irritate even me. And the other groups don’t seem to be doing much better than us.

Even Nick, who’s mainly supposed to be a cause for joy and laughter for everybody, sometimes comes up with different ways of adding more stones to my graveyard.

“Where’s home, Mommy?” he asks after dinner one day.

I’ll admit it had been a particular horrible day. The temperatures had dropped even more--unbelievable as it sounds--it had been snowing profoundly all morning, Doctor Howe had had to treat me again because of a stupid cut, and Ian and Mel had spent half of the morning yelling at each other. It all began with Ian’s suggestion of one of us taking a day off, because it was becoming clear as day that Nick has trouble following our pace of early mornings and days consisting of walking around in the cold. But Mel, of course, had seized the chance to berate Ian, calling him lazy and slacker, and for once Ian couldn’t stop himself from answering back--calling Mel irritating, exasperating and infantile in return. The string of insults and names lasted for a good two minutes before Jared put a stop to it with a yell of his. And from that moment on, Mel was physically incapable of putting up with Ian’s presence, much less his talking, even thinking--and Ian didn’t mind confessing he had the same problems. So, when we returned to the camp and got ready to have dinner, the last thing on my mind was to have that sort of conversation with Nick--him of all people should have been the last person to give anyone a headache. And yet his little mind came up with the most heartbreaking and dumbfounding question he could have come up in his early years.

As Ian and I exchange one long, panicked look, we can hear the conversation outside has faded as well. 

“We are trying to find home, buddy,” says Ian in a whisper.

“Home is hot. This is cold,” complains the toddler, making us all moan in pain. He’s way too young to be participating in any of this forsaken missions, or to understand why we’re doing any of it, wandering around the world without any apparent reason--“Wanderer” or “Son of Wanderer” will be names that’ll fit him properly one day, I gather. He just grasps the difference between his “home” from Arizona, which isn’t his home anymore after all, and these snowy and cold mountains.

“We’re trying to find a brand new home for us,” I say, kissing his temple. “You’re going to love it, I promise.”

He doesn’t look so convinced, but then again, we only need to distract him with the puzzle on the tent’s floor before he forgets about his question and our whereabouts. Of course, we the adults cannot forget about it so easily—as soon as Nick’s fallen asleep, soon after our brief conversation concerning homes, we have to settle down and come to terms with Mel, Jared and Jamie. Nick shouldn’t be forced to keep up with us only because his parents and closest family just can’t get a rest with changing the world and our lives time and time again.

After a lot of arguing, way more than I was ready for, and a lot of yelling and calling names in a poor representation of what a human family’s supposed to look like now that things have changed all over again, we finally come to a conclusion. Mel and Jared were ruled out from the beginning--there’s no way any of them would have missed a single day of tracking. So was Jamie, since he couldn’t possibly take care of Nick for a whole day all on his own. Lastly, there was no way Ian, or the others incidentally, would allow me to be on my own for a whole day in the caravan with Nick.

“Okay, then, Ian it is,” Jared sums up after we’ve decided, grudgingly on one instant. “You’ll stay back at the camp for a couple of days and meet us up at our rendezvous point—later on, it’ll be once or twice a week so Nick can get a rest too.”

We all nod in turn and, wrapping up the conversation, all start to stand and leave our spots around the fire--till Mel speaks up.

“Will you be able to set up the camp or is it too much to ask of you?” she demands Ian.

The man freezes on his way to stand and turns his head towards Mel, but doesn’t really look at her as he gives her an answer just as cold and sarcastic as Mel's ways.

“Yes, I will do your part if you’re too tired, don’t you worry.”

“Excuse you? Who’s the one who’s asked to take a day off?”

“I’m looking after my family,” scowls Ian, insulted that Mel should think badly concerning him and his son. “Something _you_ , apparently, can’t do for your life.”

“Don’t try to pretend you’re better than me, Ian,” replies Mel, although the slight flicker on her voice does indicate she felt hurt because of his words. “I can take care of my closest family members and avoid them getting hurt, kidnapped, or who knows what else.”

“If you’re so keen on helping your family members,” replies Ian, his eyes shut, his voice constraint showing how uncanny Mel’s feelings sound to him, “let Nick take a day off and follow us on his appropriate pace.”

Mel cannot possibly contradict Ian now; he’s just twisted her own words against her. If she said anything else she’d just prove to be like a toddler of Nick’s age--after a couple seconds she just clenches her jaw and allows us to keep on with our tasks about tidying up the dishes for dinner. But for some reason still can’t keep her mouth shut for long.

“Do not shield behind your son and Wanderer,” she scowls.

“Mel,” scowls Jared. In a sift movement I would have missed had I blinked, he stands, goes to meet Mel and grabs her by the wrist--so sure she actually needs to be physically restraint by her boyfriend, but I appreciate him taking action this time. Mel’s words were completely uncalled for. Luckily, she seems to realize so--lets herself be dragged to hers and Jared’s tent to at least erect a barrier amongst us.

Ian and I stay outside for a while, with Jamie—we still have to talk about the Nemesis after all. But tonight’s conversation doesn’t last very long, since none of us is quite up to the challenge. Jamie’s the first one to stand, putting the final dot to the chat.

“Why don’t you call it a night too,” he says, not so much a suggestion. “It’ll do you two good.”

As if he were the grown-up instead of us, we nod and heed his advice--soon enough we’re resting too inside of our tent, inside Ian’s sleeping bag, holding onto each other’s arms. We feel strange now, and it’s not just because of the tensed atmosphere Mel left behind, but mainly because of our brief separation that’ll come when tomorrow dawns. We did agree on the fact that Nick needed a break from it all and couldn’t keep up with the rest--although I should be the one staying back for that same reason. Putting aside everything else, I’ll confess it’s the staying away from Ian for most of today’s and the next few days that gets me on edge. We don’t know what tomorrow will come and I’d be calmer if we all would stay together, in spite of knowing that would mean going nuts because of Mel and Ian.

I don’t even try to be sexually intimate with Ian tonight, even though I’d like to, but I already know what his response will be. I settle with holding him tightly in my arms, promising not to let him go until we’re physically forced to, because it’s going to happen eventually.

That’s why my first reaction upon waking and not seeing, nor feeling, Ian by my side. I stand in a fright, looking around—but there’s no sight of him inside of the tent at all. Knowing at the back of my head that I’m somehow overreacting, I scramble out of the tent, stumbling upon the sleeping bags and the ropes and the clothes scattered around--this time I fall neatly on the snow, avoiding the alerting my whole family and making a big fuss out of nothing even before the mission’s actually started.

The sky is clear, but it’s not yet bright enough to see clearly between the trees and the shadows, and I’m careful as I walk around the camp. I stop by the caravan first to make sure Nick’s still there and, by the sounds of it, still asleep--I estimate we’ve got somewhat half an hour of peace before we need to worry about him. 

I see Ian as I step outside the caravan--a black shadow against the frozen lake, crouched on the ground without moving. I have to take a very deep breath before meeting him--I can guess his current state of mind and I’m not sure I can be of any help today. 

He moves for the first time when he hears my footsteps--still haven’t learnt how to walk without making any sound and waking up everyone in a five-mile radius, a skill I should probably master for this mission of ours. As he looks above his shoulder to find out who’s coming to bother him this time, I can see his whole body literally relax. The small smile he gives me is hardly encouraging--I miss those happy wrinkles around his eyes and lips when he flashes a whole-heartedly smile, one that I have not seen in as many days. I sit down by his side, bend my legs and surround them with my arms, trying to keep my body warmth. Ian immediately hugs me by the back and pulls me closer. 

“You had an early morning,” I remark on a few minutes later. 

He just shrugs. “Wanted to fill our canteens for today’s expedition,” he says. 

And had a change of heart in the midst of it all, I reckon, but fail to mention it out loud. If he’d filled the canteens he wouldn’t have forgotten about them like that, there on the ground. 

Out of the blue he jumps to his feet and spins to face me.

“I want to try something. Come with me.” 

He reaches out a hand, which I take immediately. I would even if he asked me to swim on the lake--it's nice to see him doing something, anything, on his own volition for a change. Seeing him smile and show initiative, without being berated because any of it. 

For a second I think my fears are going to come true, since Ian drags me to the edge of the lake. But instead of diving into the frozen water he just steps on it and smiles triumphantly, pushing me gently to follow him onto the frozen structure. I'm having second doubts all of a sudden. 

“Don’t be frightened, it’s more than four inches deep, I can vouch to that,” he promises.

I nod--and it is clear ice, not white ice. These are the safest conditions in which we could hope to do as dangerous and risky a task like this one. Inhaling deeply, I hold onto Ian and take the first, cautionary step. 

The ice holds and we don't sink deep into frozen water, that's a start. 

“Come on!” 

Ian pulls me, stepping forward with an ease similar to a citizen walking down a street in the city. I try to stop him but, fearing that a struggle could prompt the ice to break, I keep the fight at a bare minimum--just some scoffs and scowls now and then, but they're mostly for trying to keep up with Ian's pace while on a dangerous ground. 

“Here,” he says, stopping after what feels like an eternity. We're both gasping and since I was leaning part of my weight on Ian as not to fall, we end up being face to face. 

It takes me a moment to realize what Ian was aiming at in reality. It wasn't a suicide attempt like reaching the midst of the lake or anything like that--we're far from it. However, we are the only two people on sight, our tents and caravan barely visible through the first line of trees. It's almost as if we were alone. It feels right. It feels safe. It feels perfect. 

All fear forgotten now, replaced by a warm smile, I lean against Ian, who welcomes me in his parka, against his chest, as we stare at the breathtaking scenery in front of us. For some moments, we can forget everything else, including even the mission, most specially Mel and her bad humor, and just take a moment to pause our lives and enjoy. 

“Thank you,” I whisper, getting a kiss on the forehead as a response. 

“You don’t need to thank me. And any way, I should be the one doing the thanking around here.”

I know what he means--I shake my head against his chest. Knowing, too, that there's no way I can get him to change his mind, I choose to remain silent. On that subject. 

“Did I tell you that as Bears, we could hold our breath underwater for more than ten minutes straight?” I ask all of a sudden, when I realize I hadn’t told them about that tiny detail. Jamie’s going to kill me when he knows about it. 

Ian chuckles--after two beats of astonished silence. 

“No, I think you failed to mention that.”

“It was quite practical,” I say, eyeing again the ice under our feet. “Since we were prepared to face and sustain extremely low temperatures 24/7, that way, swimming underwater, we could eat fish easily. And transport through water, of course--and given our naturally fit and muscular bodies, even underwater we could make up to a few miles swimming at a time.” 

“You mean scuba diving. Without gear,” he remarks, still a bit taken aback. 

“Perhaps I do,” I chuckle. 

“Well, let’s not forget that you’re human now, OK?” he demands, all serious now, leaning in to be eye-level with me. I roll my eyes at his senseless worries. 

“Ian, I might not have spent more than three years here on Earth yet, but I’m not stupid either.” 

“I know, I know,” he promises, his voice sweeter now. He leans in to kiss me again and squeezes me tighter against his chest. I too give up on the subject, taking a mental note to tell Jamie a bit more about my life as a Bear, and let myself enjoy the time and place. 

Unfortunately, we should have predicted that this perfect moment of glory would be eventually cut short. 

“Hey, you two!!” yells Jared at the top of his lungs from the lake's shore. “Get your lazy asses back here for breakfast!! We’ve got a very long day ahead of us, you know!!” 

We slowly let go of each other--we knew we had to wake up from that dream sooner rather than later. I just hope Jared's ready to face the consequences of his yells--that is, Nick waking up. We spin to return to the shore hand in hand, but Ian once more makes a game out of it: he slides on the ice, taking me with him, almost causing a spectacular fall against the ice. I manage to hold on to his hand, but we haven't come to a complete stop that he slides again--as if he was wearing skiis or something. I try too to make the most out of it and even Jared must confess that it was a narrow draw when he judged who'd raced first to the shore. Then again, he might have been somewhat biased. 

He did wake Nick up with his yells, but thankfully Jamie took upon himself the role of big brother, and we find him feeding Nick on the caravan's table. He fails at the task, however--since the first thing we hear from Nick is a demanding: 

“More! More!” 

While pointing at the juice carton. Jamie shakes his head, trying to hold his ground, but we can tell he’s struggling. 

“Buddy, I’m sorry, that’s all there is for you.” 

“Hey, you planning on letting our kid starve?” demands Ian, making sure Jamie can tell his mocking tone. 

“I was just about to get you guys,” says Jamie, looking about a little desperate. “I gave him what you’d prepared for his breakfast.” 

“Yes, but our Nick is a demanding little thing, isn’t he?” I ask as I pick our toddler up from his seat. “A little bit more of juice won’t exactly hurt him.” 

Ian's already taken out a juice carton from the fridge, opened it and poured it into Nick’s favorite plastic mug--I reach out my hand for it and sit down to help Nick drink it without causing any accidents. Before me, on the other side of the booth, Ian also takes a seat by Jamie’s side. 

“But thank you, really,” he says--the boy does deserve some praise for the part he did right concerning feeding Nick, when he did get most of it right. 

“I thought we were short on supplies and had to be careful,” whispers Jamie. 

“Not that much,” chuckles Ian, bumping gently against the boy in an attempt to cheer him up. “We’ve got more than enough for the time being--and it’s just a short trip to the closest town’s stores. t's not like in the caves before Wanda got there. Heck, it’s not even like in the caves before you and Jared were around.” 

Jamie nods, understanding the situation a little bit better now, and the three of us fall silent staring at Nick eat his breakfast. It’s just a matter of time before Nick finishes as well the second juice carton and finally looks satisfied--proves so by burting out loud. I then hand Nick over to Ian so I can wash Nick’s dishes. All too soon, Mell calls out for breakfast and just twenty minutes later she stands so we hurry up and lave again. I’m barely given the chance to kiss Ian and Nick goodbye.

I know we barely keep up with the ten-miles ratio we agreed on at the beginning of the mission--and realize, once more, that Ian would have been a better fit than me doing the tracking with the others and I would have been far better off staying behind with Nick—but in the end, somehow, we make it. It’s for the most part a silent and quiet expedition, now that Mel doesn’t have Ian as a verbal punching bag to berate and belittle him at every corner, broken only by my heavy breathing and clumsy steps. Still need to have answered the question of how on Earth will be surprise the human cell with me in the mission--but we all avoid the subject altogether.

In the end we meet Ian safe and sound at the planned rendezvous point: the camp set, a fire burning vividly, playing with Nick. I can’t stop myself from running towards Nick and seizing him in my arms and then greet Ian with a long, wet kiss on the lips. When we break apart, he greets me with a sly smile and a tilted head.

“I think I’ll stay away more often from now on,” he says.

“Don’t you dare,” I scowl, gently pushing him, but he doesn’t even budge upon my blow. “I just missed you. And was kind of scared. Is that stupid?”

Instead of giving me a straight answer, Ian leans forward to kiss me on the lips--which incidentally answers the question, even if he wanted to verbalize a response or if he was simply stalling. I can tell by the way he relaxes as he surrounds me with his arms that he’s been just as bit as nervous as I’ve been all day long. Being apart doesn’t do well with us—but it just might be what his mind needs, apart from what our son needed too. Trying not to mention any of it out loud, we just hold onto each other.

“How was your day?” I ask, but our small bubble of tenderness bursts thanks to Mel’s sweet and caring voice, yelling from the other side of the camp.

“Hey, Ian, you slacker! D’you really think your job is done?!”

We sigh deeply, trying not to lose our tempers; now we can’t even have five full minutes to ourselves, apparently. As Ian tilts his head in despair, I hold him by the chin so he looks at me in the eye. This at least will stop him from killing Mel--for the time being, at least.

“Come on,” I suggest in a whisper, pulling Ian gently before Mel yells at us again and makes Ian feel even more like a useless toddler. But we still seize the chance to catch up on this day apart, the first time we’ve been voluntarily away from each other since. . . We can’t really put a date to that. I don’t think we really have been apart, at least willingly, ever since I finished my lectures at San Diego’s College and it started to be safe for humans to be out there again.

“Well, we did a little excursion on our own and then played for a bit on the snow,” says Ian, making sure Nick participates in the conversation also, giving a way more specific report on today’s schedules. “And we read for a while too, before leaving the camp, didn’t we, buddy?”

“Yep!”

“You don’t say!” I exclaim--it’s very easy now to pretend to be excited about mostly anything that my son does. I don’t think I’m pretending, not at all. “And what did you read about exactly, I pray?”

He talks about it excitedly, just like it was the most intriguing thing in the world. Even if he’s not getting a proper education--his early years at life have been random at best--we still try to give him proper lessons and have him intrigued about all the mysteries and intricacies of life. This is the world he’ll grow old in, after all. He needs to know all there is to know about the Earth in order to preserve it for all the future generations that’ll come after him, when all Souls are gone for good.

Once again there’s that ache in my heart and I pretend to be largely interested in the conversation I’ve already lost track of. Can’t really say something like that in front of--well, anyone really.

I am not the only one who’s missed Nick today. Jamie, who seems to have taken seriously his role of a big brother. He doesn’t leave our side as Ian and I distract Nick with varying stories until dinner, then he even gives us a hand preheating Nick’s food, and later on he also stays inside of the caravan while we put Nick to sleep with the “Goodnight room” lullaby. It breaks my heart to know the ultimate reason as why he does all this: apart from being one excellent big brother and a caring young man, he just wants to stay, for a little while, away from Mel and her superb good humor. Can’t really blame him when Ian’s literally been hiding from the woman, I don’t exchange more than a dozen succinct words with her throughout a day, and Jared barely manages to spend the whole day protecting and containing his girlfriend.

Of course, we should have realized this situation was nothing more than a giant ticking bomb. Said bomb turns out to explode at the worse possible moment--well, considering our particular mission, anything out of the ordinary happening without prior warning could be a total catastrophe. An unstable situation from the very beginning wasn’t able to last very long, not the way we were all acting.

“Are you sure you _have_ to come with us today?” asks Mel as we’re preparing breakfast--setting the mood for the day’s excursion pretty early on.“Nick certainly would enjoy some more quality time with his father.”

“Oh, do not pretend you give a damn about me or Nick,” scowls Ian.

“You insult me,” replies Mel. “Of course I care about Nick.”

“ _MEL!_ ” shrieks Ian, a yell so loud and out of the blue that makes me jump. As I look through the windows of the caravan where I was feeding our son, I see Ian’s dropped the tools for breakfast and has turned around to face Mel, at the other side of camp, who probably looks as astonished a person as I do. “I’ve had more than enough of your naming and your sarcastic comments and your bullying.”

“Bullying? Can’t you handle a little bit of teasing?”

“No, and I don’t think you’d put up with half of what you’ve been putting me through these past few weeks.”

“Maybe you put up with it because deep down you know you deserve all of it?”

“I’m fed up with you and your bullshit!” explodes Ian. “From this moment on, you don’t talk to me. You don’t talk to anybody about me. You don’t mention me, in fact, you don’t even _think_ about me.”

As Mel crosses her arms without breaking eye contact with Ian, I shiver inside. I want to get out there and support Ian, try to make Mel see reason--however stupid it is--but Nick’s hearing all of it too and I can’t stand him being frightened of his father. I don’t think he glimpses the father he knows. I wish I could pluck up the strength to distract our son with something, anything. The problem is, my mind's incapable of forming a coherent thought and my limbs feel numb.

“Let’s just finish this forsaken mission and find the human cell so we can part our separate ways at last,” scowls Ian. “In the meantime, leave me the fuck alone. Are we clear?”

For some reason, perhaps because I know her pretty well, I knew what Mel would say. Doesn’t change the fact that as soon as she opens her mouth a strange desire to strangle her overcomes me--with a fierce that surprises and scares me, because it must match Ian's feelings right now.

“You are such a child, Ian,” she laughs.

At that point I lay Nick on his crib and get out of the caravan as fast as my short legs allow me, which isn’t saying a lot after all. I almost stumble on the steps of the caravan. Jared and Jamie are way faster than I am: they’re already between Mel and Ian, keeping each other at arm’s length, by the time I manage to get out of the caravan. The two men in between don’t stop Ian from uttering a string of profanities that shouldn’t be said within hearing shot of a toddler, and includes a lot of naming and cold reproaches--everything he’s been holding till this exact moment, to be precise--and still trying nonetheless to get to Mel.

I freeze some feet from the three men and Mel, barely able to keep my tears from spilling. The sight in front of me makes me cry not only because this is just lame and pathetic, but having our little and usually close family fight like this is just heartbreaking. How are we supposed to unite this whole World with a joint goal if we behave like this with our closest family members, someone has to answer that riddle for me. I don’t think we could be doing a worse job.

“ _Stop it right now, both of you!!_ ” I shriek.

For the first time, people listen to me. I don’t know if it was my plea, or my voice breaking, or the sudden fierce. But everyone freezes again and when they turn and see me standing there, shaking out of fear and rage and what else, they start to calm down too, slowly. Ian steps away from Mel and she drops her guard and her fists as well. Everyone takes a deep breath, three of us still weary of what little spark might trigger Ian and Mel once more.

Should have known my words wouldn't be enough to wrap up the discussion between the two, however. Not by a long shot.

“I can’t stand this,” Ian sighs deeply. I can tell he’s still angry, looking for a way, or someone, to bash out to and release part of the stress. “See you later.”

He starts walking decidedly, walking past by me in a matter of strides, not a single glance cast at my direction.

“What--What are you saying?!” I demand, turning around. He stops, a good sign, I think. Until he spins and I get to see the look on his face.

“We’ve got a mission to fulfill, you know,” Jared reminds Ian coldly.

“No, I don’t,” says Ian, flat out straight and honest, seemingly not caring anymore about our duties or our mission. “You do whatever you want to do today, but I ain’t staying with Mel for one more minute.”

“Ian, please--don’t go!” I beg, trying to follow him. I completely understand his reasons, but I can’t, won’t, let him leave us. I have a bad feeling about Ian going off by himself this angry with the world. It’s been clear as day we cannot stay apart, much less on our own, while humans are surrounding us. It’s dangerous--on both sides.

“Let him go,” orders Jared behind me, but I shrug off the hand that tried to stop me.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” I scowl over my shoulder as I attempt once more to follow Ian’s footsteps. Considering they’re all humans and understand better than myself the risks we're facing, I’m surprised to be the only one scared for Ian--my feelings towards him regardless. How can they even start to think that letting Ian go all by himself in this forest is safe? Mel, I'd understand she's not thinking straight, but Jared and Jamie? They should be restraining Ian upon seeing that my pleas don't work. “Ian, please wait--”

“I just need some space, okay?!” he demands. For the second time in under a few minutes I’m frozen on the spot, unable to utter a word, this time by a yell coming from my boyfriend. He does realize his outburst was close to an overreaction and stops walking too--but he doesn’t turn around this time and I know already this is a lost battle. “Please. I’ll be back before you know it. Don’t follow me, just. . . Give me some time alone. That's all I'm asking, OK? I'll be alright. See you later.”

With that he just keeps on walking, not another glance at any of us. I’d understand he doesn’t even want to lock eyes with Mel, but me? This is just too hard. I find myself crying before Ian’s vanished into the darkness of the woods--in the midst of an eerie silence, broken solely by my sobs. Just like Eurydice, being whipped away from Orpheus, Ian’s left me for good, perhaps irretrievably.

Don’t get to mourn about it, though.

“Right. All’s good, then. Let’s start tidying up this place.”

“What?” shrieks Jamie at the same time as I turn around to face Mel with bewilderment, disbelieving my own two ears.

“Did you just say what I think you just said?” I demand very slowly, trying to keep my temper.

“Of course,” says Mel nonchalantly--the way she just frowns and shrugs is enough to boil the blood on my veins. “You do realize we came up here for a reason, don’t you? We cannot really waste a whole day because one of our members decided it was the perfect timing to throw a pathetic tantrum.”

“Do you realize the stupidities you’ve been saying for weeks now?!” I explode--can’t really handle this now, not with Ian gone.

“He’s a big man, Wanda. Shouldn’t be too worried about him.”

“I _am_ worried!” I shriek. If humans didn’t already know our position, I’m sure all the yells from the past few minutes would have given it up way too easily. “My boyfriend’s just left and you plan on just picking up and leave too?”

“Like I said, we’re on a schedule. Losing one of our members doesn’t--”

“Mel, come on, she’s right and you know it,” scowls Jamie, frowning at her sibling, surprised, to say the least, by each one of her words. “Ian didn’t even take the Jeep, or one of the maps, or his backpack, for crying out loud. If we leave this spot he might not be able to find the camp, much less the next rendezvous point. We should stay here.”

“And what do you suggest we do instead? Sit around the fire and sing happy songs until His Majesty decides to come back?”

“Why, yes!” I nod. “That’s exactly what _we_ are going to do--but _you_ are going after him.”

“Excuse you?” demands Mel, sending me one of those glares she’s been reserving for Ian lately, but barely ever for me. “Go after him?”

“It was _you_ who chased him away after all!” I try to explain--she’s deaf to reason, however. “Don’t you feel a little bit responsible for any of this?!” 

“Look, he left of his own volition,” she scowls flatly. “And I can barely accept wasting a whole day and waiting for the man, but I’m definitely not chasing after him. Get the idea out of your mind--especially if you think there’s anything I should apologize for.”

“There are a couple of things at the tip of my tongue, incidentally!”

“Get it over with if you want to--but I am not apologizing to him.”

“Who’s the childish one here, Mel?” demands Jamie. I almost bless his interjection; more than Ian, Mel’s being the infantile around here these days.

“Stay out of it, Jamie,” scowls Mel. 

“Come on, guys, let’s keep it civil,” begs Jared, stepping between the two siblings with warning and tiredness in his voice.

“I am in it already, Mel--have been in the middle of this senseless brawl ever since Day 1.”

“So to your point of view I should go after Ian as well?”

“Well--yeah, you should have followed him before he ever left!” yells Jamie, pointing at the direction Ian went, one that I’m trying not to forget or lose sight of.

“Not going to happen, kiddo,” scowls Mel, crossing his arms.

“Hey, it was you who taught me right from wrong, and about knowing the proper thing to do when you make a mistake!” shrieks Jamie--in his eyes and his voice the same astonishment and incomprehension that I see and hear in mine. “That’s why I can tell that right now the adequate thing to do is go after Ian, apologize and bring him back!”

He raises his arm to point at the direction Mel should head towards. She doesn’t budge from her spot--and neither does he.

“ _Now,_ Mel,” he begs, his voice restraint. “I don’t give a damn--”

“Language!” exclaim the three adults at once, Jamie being the only thing that still keeps us united somehow.

“I don’t give a damn about your feelings and what you think is right,” Jamie proceeds as if he hadn’t been interjected in any way, “because right now you couldn’t possibly be more wrong. Go after him right this second and apologize!”

Once more, the command isn’t heed--we realize Mel won’t put her foot down in a deep sigh of despair and incredulity. Jamie drops his hand and runs it through his hair.

“I’ve never, _never,_ been so disappointed in you as I am right now,” he sentences.

Such hard words would hurt me beyond belief--heck, they do sting a bit since Jamie and I are after all siblings too--but apparently, they do not affect Mel. She just clenches her jaw, but doesn’t make a move to fix any of the huge messes she’s in right now: making up with Jamie, or follow Ian and attempt to make things up with him.

Shaking his head, Jamie steps away from us, not missing the opportunity to show his anger and temper by kicking the tools scattered for breakfast on his way to his tent. He zips in without another word, not even from the adults telling him off for his bad behavior.

“Well, if you’re not going after him, then I am,” I settle when everything’s quiet again.

“Don’t be stupid,” scoffs Jared. “You cannot wander around these woods.”

“Oh, but Ian can?”

“He’s a grown up,” insists Jared. “And you bloody well know he isn’t in that much danger in comparison to you.”

“Didn’t seem to concern you so much when Ian left five minutes ago.”

“I know he can take care of himself. But you cannot, Wanda. Wander this forest looking for the man is pretty much suicide for you. Imagine if you stumble upon any other human but Ian--chances are you might find them sooner than you could ever find Ian.”

“Long story short, you are going nowhere,” Mel sums it up for me.

“Nice of you to put it in words that I can understand,” I mock her with sarcastic kindness, tilting my head to one side. “I ain’t staying here with you either. Why doesn’t the excuse ‘I need time and space’ work for me too?”

“Because you’re a Soul?” Jared suggests, in a very lame attempt at joking.

“Who’s spent an awful amount of time in company of humans, let me tell you!” I scowl. I see in Jared's eyes how much the accusation hurts him, although he'd never confess so out loud. However, right now I can't bring myself to apologize--there's only one human I'm concerned for and it's definitely not Jared. “Whatever. I’ll take the Jeep and go to town if you’d prefer, but if I stay here with Mel for one more minute I’ll end up doing something I might come to regret, in the very long run. Jamie, you coming?”

As I pass by his tent on my way to the caravan to get the keys for the Jeep, I hear two sounds that’ll save us all from dragging this argument on and on to no viable end: Nick’s crying, for one, and the ringtone of my personal cellphone, for the other.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Denny wanted to surprise Wanda and group expedition number 0003 with an unexpected visit, but he happened to choose the worse possible timing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Denny's POV

I get out of the car to the freezing cold, cell phone in hand, keeping the other deep inside the coat’s pocket, and dial the number once more. I know for a fact they’re still out there and, considering the mission they’re undertaking, I’m guessing Wanda must have her cell phone within reach all day long. 

When she does pick up the phone, however, I instantly realize there’s something going on. 

“What do you want?” 

Her sharp voice and total lack of interest completely take me aback. I need a couple seconds of stuttering before I manage to give her an answer. 

“Hello to you too, Wanderer. It’s nice to hear from you. How are you this morning?” 

“Hi, hello, how are you, good morning. This is not really the best time, Denny.” 

“I can tell. Want to talk about it?” I ask. 

“Not really,” she confesses after a couple seconds of deliberation. 

“Perhaps talking face-to-face might help?” 

Now she’s the one who stutters for a beat. “You want me to fly to New Mexico?” 

“Incidentally, I’m in front of the store here in Towaoc,” I inform her, looking above my shoulder at the shop assistants and managers opening the store and prepping everything for a new day of work. They sometimes glance over my position too, but we still haven’t addressed a word to each other. “So, what do you say? Fancy a relaxing cup of coffee?” 

Wanda doesn’t say a word for some seconds and I don’t, either--I don’t wish to push her in any way. But I do realize that if she doesn’t give me a flat-out denial right away is because she’s seriously considering the offer. 

“Yeah, okay, why not,” she says in the end, with a deep sigh. 

“Perfect.” 

“I’m going to need about two hours to get to town,” she says before I get too excited. 

“That’s alright, I can wait, do not rush for me,” I reply before I hang up the cell phone. I did wake up extremely early to get here before Wanda and the rest of the 0003 group members went off their daily excursion--provided the heater in my Jeep, I’m fairly certain I’ll be able to doze off for a bit. 

I do manage to close my eyes, but really not as much as I would have liked. All of a sudden a few weak knocks on the passenger’s window jolt me awake. Expecting Wanda, I reach out for my coat even before looking at the person outside--but it’s a woman I don’t recognize. Seeing as she’s wearing an apron and is smiling shyly at me, probably regretting the moment she woke me up with a fright, I simply open the passenger’s window. The cold wind enters the vehicle immediately and I’m this close to asking her to step inside--although for a human, that may be a little bit awkward, she might consider it making a move on her, or rude. 

“Everything alright?” I ask, leaning forward. 

“I was going to ask you that,” says the woman. “I’m sorry, it’s just--you’ve been sleeping in here for the most part of two hours. I got worried.” 

Her confession makes me smile--and the human doesn’t consider my snicker condescending. But things have indeed changed a lot in the past few months if now a human can show such honest and whole-hearted concern towards a Soul who once considered her enemy--the way any Soul would be attentive to any other being, human or not. Our work here might be done. 

“Thank you, but I’m just waiting for someone,” I say. “Nothing to worry you about.” 

“Oh, okay,” nods her. “In that case, I’ll just leave this here.” 

She reaches an arm through the open window and leaves a smoking coffee and a kraft paper bag from the supermarket. Such affectione, simple and kind gesture brings a smile to my lips--and by the time I look up again, I see the woman’s walking back to the store. 

“Thank you!!” I yell at her back. 

I’m not entirely certain if she’s heard me, but then she enters the store and it’s too late to follow her--that would most positively considered rude. I close the passenger’s window and inspect the gifts she’s left me. The coffee is at the perfect temperature and there’s milk and sugar on the tray. Inside the bag there are half a dozen croissants and doughnuts, all home-made, apparently. I really need to go back and properly thank her the breakfast. 

I decide to do so after I’ve eaten and I bite the first doughnut, which tastes nearly as amazing as it looked. It wasn’t a bad idea coming to Colorado after all. 

Fifteen minutes later someone horns by my left. This time it is Wanda, but instead of getting out of our vehicles, she points at me to follow her and drives off. Promising myself that I’ll stop by the store before I leave Towaoc, I drop the paper bag and coffee on the passenger’s seat, wipe the scrumbs off my lips with the back of my hand, put on the seatbelt and follow Wanda. We don’t go very far: just a few turns more and I park behind Wanda in front of the only hotel in the small town. Only then do we come out of our vehicles and meet in the sidewalk. 

“Morning,” I greet with two kisses. 

“Hello, Denny,” she nods. “Sorry about earlier.” 

“You don’t have to apologize,” I promise. Now that I can see her, it’s not just her voice that shows tiredness and perhaps desperation: it’s her whole body, from her eyes to the crestfallen shoulders. I wonder where on Earth the brave and daunting Wanderer I met might be. “But I can see you did need to get away. What in the world has happened? Another encounter with humans?” 

“Yes, you could say that,” she scowls, crossing her arms. “Only, those humans belong to my own family. Come on, I’m freezing.” 

Before I put in any word, she starts walking--jogging, really--towards the hotel and courtesy demands me to step up and hold the door open for her. She nods and turns left, towards the cafeteria at the hall, and chooses one of the tables farthest from the entrance. I take her coat and hand it to the waitress that greets Wanderer kindly, offering in return two menus and promising to return in a couple minutes to take our order. 

Neither Wanda or I glance at the menu at the beginning. Wanda’s rubbing her hands on her trousers to keep warm, looking through the windows, and for some seconds I’m just too busy staring at her. She notices, of course--that’s probably what makes her look at me again. 

“Thank you for coming,” she says. “So, how’s group number 0079 doing?”

“How’s number 0003?” I retort, tilting my head.

“I asked you first,” she replies, but next second she seems to realize such an answer could never work. . . Except with a Soul like me, that is.

“Well, you know the answer to that,” I say. “We’ve been reporting to the Council every night, just like you.” 

“And I also know those reports don’t actually reflect a goddamn thing,” she scowls, such foul language almost choking me. She crosses her arms in defense or perhaps confrontation, I can’t really tell. I sigh deeply--guess I’m going to have to wait before getting any answers.

“Well, you know how it is. Walking in the middle of nowhere, looking around all day long without getting any news whatsoever. Been the same for two months now. Ring a bell?”

“One or two, yeah,” she nods.

“Well, you at least got some news. Even if it was in the form of humans stealing from your supplies.”

She chuckles without really looking at me, or humor finding its way up to her mouth and eyes.

“Guess that is something, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah,” I promise, making sure the mockery is clear. “You’re the lucky ones. Some don’t know if what we’re doing is absolutely, completely useless. At least you know there’s someone out there--and not just someone, actually.”

“Six or seven, by Ia--” for some reason she just can’t finish that name. She freezes, her mouth hanging half-open, her eyes bat open, before resuming her sentence in a completely different way. “By our teams’ estimate.”

“That’s great news, really,” I praise.

“Really good news,” she nods--there’s no way around it.

At that moment the waitress returns and we take one brief look at the menu. I ask for an apple juice and Wanderer for an orange juice and a Cuban sandwich, the human version. I then take the paper bag and lay on the table, so Wanderer can eat more than a simple sandwich for breakfast--or second breakfast, I don’t really know nor care. 

For some minutes we use the excuse of eating for not talking--and then the silence lingers for some more minutes. Wanderer’s the first to speak up again, wondering about the members of group number 0078, and I cannot deny her that answer. 

Laxley is the other male Soul in our group and one of the reasons why I felt confident about leaving the team today--although for the past months it’s been proven he’s as useless at tracking as I am. Sarah Barlow, the human whose Soul left voluntarily two weeks before the start of the missions, she used to live in the now abandoned village of Organ, New Mexico, nearby the area we’re tracking, so she’s a real asset to the team; plus, there’s a small chance she finds her family. Marcia Lance was discovered when she committed entering and breaking and shot one of the Souls who lived in the apartment--she was released from the Recovery Center only one month before the start of the missions. Owen Hobbes was scavenging the streets of Keswick, Iowa, when he stumbled upon a couple, a human and a Soul, walking hand in hand down the street, hugging and kissing, out in the open--and when he followed them and payed closer attention to his surroundings, saw what had happened. Clarisse Debbenham survived most of the Apocalypse living in her car. One day, when she was just starving in her car in the outskirts of Reliance, Wyoming, two humans went to meet her--and convinced her to stay for a few days in the town’s Recovery Center, where everything was explained to her at great length, multiple times, by many different witnesses, until she believed it. Clifford Raynerson had been hiding for years in the abandoned Williams Grove Amusement Park in Pennsylvania, until he was found by the architect Souls sent for studying on the field the demolition and rebuilding works, which happened right at the beginning of Wanderer’s lectures at College being launched nationwide, hence no Soul was ever inserted inside Clifford’s system. He had spent days with Healers and Seekers trying to find more humans when the announcement by Council was issued and he joined the mission too. And lastly, Seth Ryer’s case was very similar to that of Wanda and Mel’s: Seth’s conscience had stayed behind with the Soul, Utkru, but neither of them had any idea of how to solve the situation and so they kept silent--until Wanda’s message reached Connecticut. Utkru, at least that’s the most approximate name Seth can recall nowadays, was amongst the first-wave volunteers leaving the Earth and was only too glad to do so. His last words to Seth before being extracted was giving him courage and wishing him good luck in finding his family. 

Those are the members of the group 0078, I explain Wanda--excluding me, of course. I also give her a more detailed explanation of our success so far--or lack thereof, more like. Since the start of the mission nearly two months ago, we’ve found nothing: not even a sight of humans, tracks that don’t belong to our group or, I don’t know, a written message or something. Honestly, groups like Wanderer’s are without a doubt the lucky ones. 

“Perhaps you’re stretching it too far,” she interjects for the first time since I started talking. 

“But--what in the world happened out there, Wanda?” I demand, dropping the wonderful and fascinating subject about my useless and unsuccessful group. “You’re practically a family! What went wrong?” 

“This story starts four weeks before the announcement from Council,” she says, tilting her head to one side. If she was trying to prove it’ll take her some time to explain, I just shrug and point at the clock at the end of the hall. 

“Go ahead. I’ve got all day--and I can stay for tonight if I need to.” 

She drops her head, crestfallen. Did she actually think I’d tell her not to bother explaining things and that I’d suggest we should just leave the cafeteria right now? 

Before I’m forced to press her, she begins to talk. Starting from Denver, a month earlier, where she got shot--I still don’t understand where on Earth did humans get a hold of weapons in the midst of the Apocalypse--and explaining everything that’s happened since, including that one-week kidnapping from Ian’s father’s peers and the constant bashing, berating and belittling from Mel these past few weeks. When Wanda ceases speaking, whether it is because she cannot go on anymore or if she’s actually told me everything, I’m baffled. She just can’t get out of trouble--even when it seemed normality was supposed to settle. 

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know,” she scowls--only too late I realize I’ve actually said those words out loud. 

“It’ll blow over, surely,” I promise. 

“It’s been two months,” she complains, raising her voice involuntarily. 

“Holding a grudge for two days sounds too much for us Souls,” I accept, “but humans, as you well know, are different. I dare say Mel could hate Ian for far longer than that.” 

“Well, considering their lifespan is way shorter than ours, wasting that precious time fighting and holding grudges against members of one’s family doesn’t sound that logical,” scowls her. 

“Once again, they’re humans,” I remind her kindly, the hint of a smile playing on my lips. “They don’t ponder logic and rationality as we do. Mel’s angry, with reason.” 

“You’re taking her side?” she explodes. 

“I’m not taking any sides,” I promise, raising both hands to defend myself from her anger. “I’m just trying to make you see all points of view to the story. Mel’s angry, sure, but she’ll get over it with time. You just have to be patient in the meantime.” 

“So Ian was wrong for leaving on his own, then?” 

“Oh, no, not at all,” I reply, shaking my head vigorously. “And you did the right thing too. No one in their right mind, Soul or otherwise, could nor should be able to stand such treatment for so long without responding or exploding at some point. I’m surprised he lasted that long, to be honest.” 

This time she doesn’t have an immediate response fore me, she just sinks her head and stares for some seconds at the orange juice she’s ordered, the glass half empty. 

“I just miss him,” she confesses so low that for a couple seconds I doubt she actually said the words or if I’d just imagined them. “I know it’s kind of stupid, but. . . It feels strange not having him by my side. Ever since we left the apartment in San Diego, we were apart that week when I was taken and that’s it,” Yes, it’s fair to assume Ian stayed by Wanda’s bedside every hour she was unconscious after the emergency extraction and insertion. “It makes me feel uneasy, to be honest. Not knowing where he is, what he’s doing, what he’s thinking. . .” 

“I believe that’s what you call loving someone,” I retort. 

“Yeah, well, I believe I wouldn’t have to wonder all that if I’d stayed with Ian.” 

“Following him into the woods?” I ask raising an incredulous eyebrow--a response Wanda could have predicted, even coming from me. She’s smart, she knows that wasn’t an option for her as soon as she let Ian put some distance from the camp. 

“We spend the days following each other,” she sighs deeply. “There’ll be a time when one of us won’t be able to catch up with the other anymore.” 

My nonchalant and carefree predisposition vanishes at once upon those words. This is not something she should be thinking right now, what with Ian missing and--actually, this is a subject that shouldn’t even be in her mind at all. I refuse letting Wanda dive into such depressing thoughts. I won’t allow it, I settle as I reach a hand over the table to grab hers tightly, my fierce surprising her--she looks up and locks eyes with me, to see an anger and decision she’s barely seen in any Soul before, I can tell. 

“That’s not going to happen. Not in a very, _very_ long time,” I promise, emphasizing each and every word to convince her. “We’ve got way more important matters on our hands at the moment. Months from now, call me and we can resume this conversation. But not today. Are we clear?” 

She nods a few times, but doesn’t say a word--I realize she’s trying to swallow as well her tears. In order to give her time to cool down, I let go of her hand, finish my juice and grab another croissant. I split it in two with my knife and hand half of it to Wanda. In a chuckle, she takes it and makes the smallest bite. She chews and swallows very slowly and without looking at me, which kind of upsets me--I thought her taking the croissant was her accepting the peace offering. 

“So you’re not thinking about it,” she says a few minutes later. 

“I am not,” I promise fiercely. 

“Have you given any thought at all?” she presses. I can’t help but laugh, because she’s noticed my attempt at deceiving her--I’m not thinking about it right now, here at this hotel, but that doesn’t mean the idea hasn’t crossed my mind ever. 

“Of course I have,” I scoff, leaning on my chair too, a bit uneasy now that I’m on the spotlight of the conversation. “What with the spaceships leaving everyday and all.” 

“And when the missions finish--” 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I suggest raising a hand. “Mine’s not even started yet. We’re talking about a task that could last for months on end, perhaps years.” 

“But it _will_ have an end,” insists Wanda. “Whether it’s because we give up or because all the one thousand groups are successful, the missions will come to an end someday.” 

“Can we just find solace in thinking that end is still very far away?” I beg in a whisper, my eyes closed as not to see the look on Wanda’s face. This is hard enough for me too, in case she can’t notice it. I really don’t want to consider the prospects today, here, when it might not happen for a long time to come yet. 

“Just one more thing. You don’t see any alternative, do you.” 

It wasn’t even a proper question and that just disheartens me. She doesn’t see any other option; she’s set already, well in advance. Of course she is--she’s Wanderer. She’s stronger than I’m ever going to be. She can handle it. My shoulders and head drop all at once--any ounce of dignity or strength I had on my way here gone already. I stare at the empty glass on my hands and when I see a waitress by the corner of my eye I ask for a refill. 

“I--I don’t know, Wanda,” I stress out in the end, running a hand through my hair. She watches me in silence from the other side of the table and I just know what’s going on through her mind, which just makes me want to avoid her eyes again and choose to stare through the window. The almost empty street with the snow stacked up to the sidewalks, the mountains behind--just another scenery of the Earth I’m glad I got to see. “Perhaps not,” I grant after a few seconds. “At the moment, I don’t see another way. But--I don’t know, Wanda. We never know.” 

This time she’s the one to respond by simply raising an eyebrow--proving her incredulity and disappointment upon my words. I thank the waitress as he hands me another glass and take the first sip when he leaves. 

“We’ll just have to wait and see, okay?”

“Wait for what exactly, Denny?” she demands, leaning as not to raise her voice--there are other Souls around here who deserve our respect too. “Some sort of miracle? Because that’s the only thing that’ll help us.” 

“Has happened once before,” I wink at her and she just scowls--per usual, she hates being the center of attention because of all the great things she’s done for humankind. Well, it’s not like she deserves any praise whatsoever. 

“I’m being serious here, Denny.” 

“So am I. Right now it’s too early to make any decisions.” 

“Not for hundreds of millions of Souls--” 

“Who did what they wanted to do because they believed it was right,” I interject her, not willing to allow Wanda to make me feel uncomfortable and guilty either. “I don’t share that belief, not at the present moment.” 

“Okay,” she accepts, but by her tone I already know she’s not accepted defeat yet. “Okay, let’s say we finish our missions. One way or another, we’re given the chance--or order--from Council to give up the search and go back to our lives and homes. We do. I go back to Denver with Ian and Nick and you return to New Auburn or wherever.” 

“Preferably Arlington, Kentucky,” I put in, but she dismisses it with a wave of her hand. 

“Kentucky, fine. Will you really?” 

I can’t give an honest answer to that--she should know. I just sigh deeply, my shoulders raising and dropping as I breathe in and out. Wanda nods a couple of times and taps the table’s surface with her fingernails for a couple of minutes, until she’s certain I can’t provide her an answer. 

“What will be stopping you then?” 

That question almost gets me growling and flipping the table out of anger, spilling also our drinks, smashing the glasses and the croissants and doughnuts. I do nothing of that sort, of course, because a Soul knows better, but thanks to spending so much time with humans, the simple idea entertains me somehow. 

“Guess we’ll figure it out when the time comes,” I say simply, shrugging off the question. “Let me ask you something: wouldn’t it be too hard?” 

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “That’s an understatement,” she confesses. 

“Well, there you have it, then,” I settle, slamming my fist on the table. “Perhaps you won’t be able to do it, because honestly, I don’t think I will ever be.” 

“Don’t you think it’d be too hard _not_ to do it?” she retorts, tilting her head. 

I’m breathless after that question--part of the energy I’d recovered after my last intervention vanishes all at once. 

“Yes, of course it’ll be too hard,” I confess in a whisper. “And here’s the rub.” 

“And here’s the rub,” she nods, leaning on her chair again, crossing her arms in defeat. 

We stay silent for a good two minutes--but I can tell our minds have wandered in the same lines of thought. She proves it when she speaks again, carefully, slowly. 

“There isn’t a good option, is there?” she asks. 

I’m not sure if I can give her an answer. She’s summarized my same thoughts in quite a depressing and sullen little question. 

“It should be easy, for us Souls,” I reckon, tilting my head. 

She chuckles--sarcastically. “Sadly, I know that. I know the Origin teachings from my mother’s mother’s mother. But, can’t we be a little bit selfish for once in our lives? Can’t we think of ourselves first instead of the greater good, just this time?” 

I raise one eyebrow at her. “Abandon our beliefs?” 

“Just once,” she repeats, raising her index finger. “Don’t you think we’ve done enough good things in our existence to deserve--?” 

“Wanda, our lives don’t revolve around compensation,” I say. Trying to keep my voice even and calm although I’m reminding her of our most basic teachings from Origin Planet. “It’s not that we deserve or we’re owed anything for doing something good for someone--we act the way we do because it’s the right thing to do. There’s no way around it. We do no expect anything from anyone. So no, we don’t deserve anything, Wanda.” 

“I did save this Planet in somewhat a miraculous gesture,” she points out. As if that meant anything at all. 

“And I saved my friends’ lives more times than I can count!” I explode. “That still doesn’t mean I think I’m owed anything from humans. Plus, if it’s all about compensating, don’t you think we owe one hell of an apology and an enormous gesture to humankind for invading their Planet in the first place and erasing millions of humans from existence?” 

There is it, in Wanda’s eyes: the remorse eating her alive as she stutters for a few seconds upon my words. I sigh deeply and apologize, my words nothing but sincere. Every Soul who’s spent a single minute on Earth does regret and probably resent the decision--and will for a long time to come. It’s a very low blow reminding Wanda of it, when she herself has confessed feeling awful and sick about what we as a species did to humankind, even if, as she’s so blatantly put it, we changed this Planet a hundred times for the better. 

“We are not selfish. We are not resentful. We’re not boastful or conceited or rude or jealous,” I go on, our teachings being an easy conversation for one, “we’re not resentful, nor hold grudges, nor are hateful. In fact we’re pretty much the opposite of humans: merciful, benevolent, kind, compassionate. . .” 

“I do not need a lecture, Denny,” she interjects me with a scowl. I nod--I was starting to believe she was going soft on me--and just drop the subject. 

“Wanda, I get where you’re coming from, but don’t you think that if we start now abandoning our beliefs, we should have said something a little bit earlier?” I ask slowly, trying not to get her or myself upset again. “Millions of Souls have already left the Earth as of today.” 

“I am aware of that,” she nods. “And I feel horrible for sending them away.” 

“You know perfectly well that’s not what you did,” I scowl. “They all made a choice.” 

“After they heard my lectures,” she points out. 

“Because they saw what we did wrong,” I insist. “It was the only logical solution for all of them.” 

“And that’s what I’ve been saying, Denny: it’s so logical and simple that--” 

“Do not finish that sentence,” I beg of her. I’m way too tired to keep on arguing with her--I certainly didn’t expect this kind of conversation when I decided to come up here to Colorado. “Look, let’s just drop this. For now this whole thing is out of the question. Let’s not make any decisions--unless they involve our mission.” 

“Denny, the only decision I want to make right now concerning the mission and group 0003 is to go back and strangle Mel,” scowls Wanda with a roll of her eyes. This is better, falling back to known and easy territory. 

“Really? Now who’s the one being pessimistic and close-minded about other possibilities?” 

“Those are completely different circumstances, Denny--don’t give me that.” 

I chuckle and return to my juice. Somehow we’ve both agreed to put an end, at least for now, to that particular argument--because we’ll be talking about it a lot in the future, but we can postpone it until after our missions are over. 

All of a sudden a melody rings. I frown and look around, checking my coat and the other customers at the café, because I don’t recognize it--but in front of me, Wanda gasps in fright and turns to desperately rummage her parka. She doesn’t find anything and the melody continues and so she picks up her bag. Instead of rummaging its contents, she just holds it upside down so everything drops on the table--keys, tissues, spare gloves, a map, a lantern, a couple pens, her cellphone, a car toy from Nick and finally the beeping machine. Wanda throws away her bag, collects the pager and stares dumbfounded at the message she’s received. After a couple seconds of silence I’m this close to standing and reading it as well above her shoulder, when she looks at me and I already know it didn’t say anything good. Her hands are shaking, her pupils are dilated, she’s turning white as the sheet covering the table. Upon seeing her state I start picking up everything she’s dropped--I’m guessing we won’t be staying for another glass of juice. 

“They’ve sent the distress signal,” she whispers. 

I stand abruptly, the glasses and everything on top of the table wobbling dangerously, but the only thing I manage to throw is my chair. A waitress and another customer are already by our side to help us pick up the mess we’ve caused in the last few seconds--and so I just grab my coat and reach a hand for Wanda. 

“Let’s go,” I order sullenly. 

She nods and grabs my hand in return. 

“Excuse us,” I beg. 

No one stops us and Wanda follows me outside of the hotel, unsteady steps and shaky breath. I don’t even think it twice before helping her into the passenger’s seat of my Jeep--she’s in no condition of driving. I just take the map from her hands and pray to my ancestors I’ll be able to follow the indications to the campsite. As soon as I turn the key into the ignition I dash forward and I’m way over the speed limit by the time we’re in the outskirts of town--I wouldn’t have that big of a problem if the police were to chase after me, at least I’d have some backup or some kind of authority along with me. 

I know how this works: after sending the distress signal, Council or the team in charge at that moment will try to get in touch with the group in question by any of the means available and will send out drones in an attempt to pinpoint their exact last known location. If the group in distress doesn’t answer and no signs of them is picked up by the drones, a rescue party will be launched from the States’ capital and start a search for the group. 

The thing is, sending out the drones and checking the area might take up three or four hours, and that’s if they successfully have a clear shot of the area and get a definitive answer concerning group 0003. Only then will the rescue party be launched, but they’ll be leaving from the District’s Capital, Denver, and that’s a three-hour journey to Towaoc. We cannot wait that long--I know Wanda, by my side, is already going nuts. She’s uttering time and time and time again Ian’s, Nick’s, Jamie’s, Jared’s and Mel’s name, praying that they’ll be safe and sound at the camp and that the distress signal was nothing more than a false alarm. Now and then she opens her eyes and begs me to speed up. I oblige, or attempt to--don’t want to run into a tree either. 

One way or another, I manage to save up to thirty minutes, which is saying a lot, considering the roads and the speed I was driving. But it is now undeniable that the black smoke raising to the sky comes from the campsite. We don’t even want to imagine. . . 

All of a sudden Wanda’s cold hand’s on my arm and for some reason I step off the gas before she tells me to. 

“Stop,” she orders.

I oblige at once. The sudden silence and restful strikes us both as quite contradictory, compared to the situation two seconds ago--there’s only our heavy breathing in the vehicle. Only a couple seconds later do I dare to turn my face and glance at Wanda.

“What’s going on?” I ask in a whisper. I can’t see any signs of imminent danger.

“Those tracks,” she says, pointing forward.

Following her gaze I look at the road. There in front of us there’s the turn we must take in order to reach Group 0003’s campsite. But coming out of that road and heading north there’s another set of tracks that even I can tell belong to a pair of Jeep wheels. It can’t have been any of us--Wanda drove past this point hours ago, headed south.

“Let’s go,” orders Wanda, unbuckling her seatbelt.

Takes me a couple seconds--that is, seeing her outside buttoning her coat and turning on her flashlight--to understand she meant proceeding our journey on foot. I immediately take the keys off the ignition and follow her outside. At that moment I notice the horrible smell, probably the reason why  Wanda’s frozen on the sidewalk without moving a muscle.

A large, black column of smoke raises above the trees from the approximate location of the camp we were headed to. Something’s burning. And even in the middle of winter, a fire in the woods is never positive, in any circumstances.

Wanda goes first, taking the turn to the left, walking a bit crouched in order to hide in the shades of the trees, careful not to step on the Jeep’s tracks. I follow her closely, aware that our footsteps can be heard within a five-mile radius at least, not daring to make her stop and suggesting doing things differently. I doubt she’ll listen to reason--I doubt she’ll listen to me at all if I tried.

I must say, she does a wonderful job keeping her temper. I can’t say if, in her shoes, I would have already gone off running in order to check my family member’s well-being--but Wanda manages to keep her head cool and prioritize our safety throughout our walk. At least, until we’re about fifteen feet from the clearing they based their camp at. Now that we see the huge fire burning in the middle of the campsite, where I must assume was the fire camp, dangerously close to the tents and the caravans, the dense cloud of smoke burning our throats and eyes, she completely loses it. Yelling at the top of her lungs the names of her family members, she dashes forward and runs all around the campsite, looking for them everywhere she can think of.

“Nick! Jamie! Ian! Mel! Jared!” she yells over and over--unaware, apparently, that she’s completely giving our position away. Although that’s not something she should be concerned with anymore.

I follow her closely, as to be able to stop her before she tries anything stupid--such as attempting to enter one of the tents that has caught in fire. At that point I do grab her by the arms and restrain her, dragging her away from the tent and from the fire, not without some difficulties and struggles coming from Wanda. We both rest against a tree at the outskirts of the clearing, safely away from any danger, looking around the campsite.

At that moment, staring at the fire and the remains of what used to be group number 0003’s campsite, we both realize the same horrible news. There are no corpses around the campsite. They’re all gone. We can only hope they haven’t been killed yet and won’t have the horrible experience of finding their bodies nearby. Panting heavily still, Wanda shrugs off my hands and this time I do not fight her.

“We need to get out of here,” I say, coughing, trying to catch my breath.

“I’m not leaving,” is Wanda’s response that I totally should have predicted. I close my eyes and sigh deeply, knowing that not saying anything will be nearly as useful as arguing with her.

“We cannot stay,” I try to reason.

“Get the fire extinguisher,” she asks.

I stand by her side for a few more seconds, making sure she’s alright--well, making sure she doesn’t faint, have a nervous breakdown or anything worse. Her whole family’s been taken, presumably, precisely the day they’d had the biggest argument, I could understand she’s having a hard time coping.

“Please, Denny,” she begs after a couple more seconds.

I don’t even take the time to verbally answer to her--I leave her side and run towards the caravan. By Law, we all must carry a fire extinguisher, so it’s not even a question I’ll find one there. But then I realize I cannot access the vehicle. Someone’s broken the handle from the outside--and now that I pay closer attention, there’s a low bumping and a weak whimpering coming from inside.

“ _Wanda!!_ ” I shriek.

Such a yell won’t do good with her fragile state of mind, I know, but there was no other way of breaking it down for her--and she would have reacted the same had I told her differently or with more touch. She spins around and dashes to me, to the caravan, and attempts to open the door when she notices she can’t get a hold of the handle either. She then leans her ear to the door and hears the exact same noises I did.

“Nick, are you in there?” she demands in a shriek. 

“Mommy?” shrieks the little boy from the inside.

I can literally see Wanda sighing with relief--although it’s only temporary.

“Are you all right?” she asks. This time she’s trying to keep her voice lower, calmer--for her son’s sake.

“Mommy!” the boy shrieks again, unable to give a more precise answer. It’s possible he didn’t even understand the question--he’s just frenzied after whatever happened in here a little while ago.

“Hang in there, we’ll get you out!” promises Wanda, the only honest words she could give him.

Faster than I thought she could run, Wanda dashes towards the driver’s seat and checks the door--the handle works, luckily. Nick didn’t even think about leaving the caravan through the front side or, if he did, he couldn’t possibly open the door.

Wanda’s outburst almost rips the door off its clings. She climbs into the cabin and accesses the back side all while yelling time and time again Nick’s name. I stay outside, just in case—knowing Nick won’t receive gladly any stranger. Hearing the reunion of mother and son is enough to bring tears to my eyes, in any case--I can hear the despair and fright in both their voices as they sob in each other’s arms.

I give them all of five minutes before the uneasiness strikes again. First, we need to get away from the fire, for all our sakes. Second, who knows if there are still humans nearby. They took Mel, Jared and Jamie, all human--I don’t even want to think about what they’ll do to Wanda and me if they catch us here.

Popping my head from the driver’s door, I knock on the wheel to warn about my presence. In spite of trying to be tactful and careful, Nick still shrieks upon a stranger’s face, and her mother is compelled to calm him down and promise the boy he’s alright, the danger’s all over, the bad men are long gone.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Nick,” I promise. “I’m a friend.”  
   
“Yes, he’s a good friend,” says Wanda. “He’s going to look after you, Nick. Really. Trust me.”  
   
“Speaking of which, we really should go, family,” I say, pointing outwards.  
   
Wanda gets the hint alright: the horrible smell of the smoke can’t be forgotten and she can still see the fire through the windows. She nods and stands--Nick doesn’t let go of her, holding to her trousers tightly. In other circumstances entirely, the separation anxiety disorder might make us laugh--today we know it’s caused because of a horrible experience the toddler shouldn’t have seen.  
   
“Take him, will you, Denny?” Wanda hands me Nick and so I help him down the caravan and also drag him away from the fire and the toxic smoke. The drones shouldn’t take much longer now--once they see the fire they will immediately contact the rescue party.  
   
While I took care of Nick, Wanda grabbed the fire extinguisher. I hand her Nick back so I’m free to use the fire extinguisher, ordering them both to stay back and do not attempt to help me until I’m through--and I’ve got the chance to figure out I don’t excel at putting down a fire either. Takes me some very long minutes and I can tell I almost run out of whatever’s inside of the thing, but somehow I manage.  
   
Dropping the fire extinguisher to the ground, nearby what once was the campfire that is now reduced to a pile of ashes against the snow, I join Wanda and Nick, the poor boy keeps whimpering in her mother’s arms. I can’t help myself and I lean to caress his temple, as if that simple gesture could ever work to calm the boy down.  
   
“It’s alright now,” I say to the mother and to the toddler. I know they both needed to hear the words, even if the evidence is plain in front of them--heck, I needed to say it out loud. I know we’re not out of the woods yet, metaphorically nor literally speaking, but at least things are better now on one front.  
   
“Where’s Daddy?” asks Nick.  
   
“He’ll be here in no time,” promises Wanda. “Nick, tell me: does something hurt? Did you hit your head, or your hand, your leg?”  
   
“No,” says the boy, although I doubt he can actually give her an honest answer, or understand what she’s asking. That’s why Wanda indicates Nick to slowly move his head from side to side, his wrists and arms, his ankles and knees, fingers and toes. He seems to be alright, not a scratch on sight. I think I’d be as angry a Soul could be if humans had managed to hurt an innocent toddler.  
   
“You’re alright,” Wanda sums up, kissing Nick on the forehead. I refrain myself from pointing out that her examination isn’t exactly thorough or based on any kind of medical knowledge--it’s not the time for such technicalities. She then lets him on the ground, keeping a tight hold to Nick’s little hand.  
   
“We should go back to town,” I say then. At least we could wait for the rescue party in the warmth of the car.  
   
Wanda makes an uncommitting sound with her throat. Looking for a more elaborated answer, I turn towards her, but then she just looks down on Nick--the plea is obvious. I nod in return and grab Nick’s little hand while Wanda leaves us and rummages one of the tents. Nick and I stand there in silence for a few minutes while Wanda does who-knows-what inside the tent, presumably preparing something. My best guess is that she’s gathering some of Nick’s stuff, since we’re going to need his toys and clothes if we’re to leave the campsite.  
   
She gets out of the tent with a big backpack hanging from her shoulder indeed, filled to the brim. She takes another look at the camp who’s seen much better days than this one and then turns to us. Decided, she kneels in front of Nick--caresses his cheeks, blows a few strands of hair from his eyes.  
   
“Denny, can you do me a favor?” she asks, without looking at me.  
   
“Of course. What do you need?” I say immediately, the way she expected.  
   
“Take good care of Nick,” she begs, now locking eyes with me. I immediately step away from the toddler and raise my hands in the air, in an attempt not to be dragged into it unconsciously.  
   
“What--? Wanda, what’s this?”  
   
“Please. Don’t let anything happen to him,” she proceeds, the way she talks and looks at me making it impossible to give her a ‘No’ for an answer. “When the drones get here give the distress signal. Stay with him and protect him. Make sure he is checked out by Healers. Please.”  
   
“Wanda, don’t--”  
   
But she’s not listening to me anymore; she’s got only eyes for Nick, making sure he’s properly clothed, kissing his forehead a couple times on a row.  
   
“Honey, I’m going to fetch Daddy,” she says. I’m about to argue when she keeps talking--and considering how much she’s struggling in an attempt to make it look as if everything was under control in front of Nick, I cannot shatter her confidence. “Look, I told you before, Denny’s a dear friend of mine and you’ll be safe with him. Okay? Can you be a good boy for me?”  
   
“Mommy,” the boy complains. Barely understanding what’s going on, but able to grasp his mother’s abandoning him once more.  
   
“I’ll be back shortly,” she promises with a final kiss to the cheeks. She stands and finally dares to lock eyes with me--I can already see I’m not going to talk her out of it easily. When she speaks again her voice is barely above a whisper, so as not to let Nick hear her now. “And if I’m not, look after him. Take him away, contact Jeb, Kyle and Ian’s father and make sure he has a life.”  
   
“Wanda,” I whisper, my voice as close to a plea as Nick’s was. She doesn’t let me to go on.  
   
“Please. Don’t let any harm come to him. And get the hell out of here, for both your sakes.”  
   
“And for _your_ sake--”  
   
Instead of listening, she kneels to grab her backpack and hangs it from her shoulder. As she stands, she avoids looking at us in the eye, spins around and starts running without saying a single word--I know she’d burst out crying if she had. But of course, she didn’t take into account that Nick would set off crying the minute he sees his mother leaving him again, for the second time today.  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo…... Yeah, I got some more ideas for this work and they kind of got out of hand! I estimate it's now going to be a 30-chapter story (unless more ideas come to mind and it becomes a 40-chapter story or something) !! 
> 
> Anyways, thank you so much for reading and putting up with me!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite knowing she's risking her own neck, Wanda sets off to find her family, presumably taken by a human cell

Inspiration in desperation. That old Jeb’s saying comes to mind a lot of times this afternoon. So far I’ve been a zero to the left throughout this tracking down humans mission; but today, somehow, I manage not to get lost and, foremost, not to lose sight of those Jeep tracks, which are in the end the only damn clue I’ve got about the whereabouts of my family members.

Mel might not be with me out in the desert, looking for a human cell, in quite the desperate situation--but I do hear her, as clearly as if we still shared her conscience. She encourages me at every step, pushes me beyond my capabilities, warns em not to step on the Jeep tracks or on an area dangerously covered in snow. I haven’t eaten or drunk since I left the camp, but I don’t feel thirsty or hungry, and I don’t plan on coming to a halt any time soon. 

Anger and determination drive me forward as it is. Why were we so naïve, including humans? How could we believe for just a mere second that things had changed that much? Heck, I was imprisoned by humans days before the start of the mission--why didn’t it cross my mind that I’d find the same treatment now, out here in Colorado? When I get back, I need to contact the Council and order them to abort each and everyone of those missions. 

That is, if I get back. I’m not stupid. I realize I’m headed directly towards danger. The sane thing to do would have been to heed Denny’s advice and wait in Towaoc until the arrival of the rescue party, and then I still should have stayed behind, taking care of Nick. Reason tells me that’s what I should have done. And it’s probably what would have happened had there been anyone else but Denny with me.

But my heart tells me differently. Deep down I know there’s quite the chance my human family members are dead. Following those tracks might lead me to that same destiny. However, there’s no way I could have settled with doing anything but what I’m doing right now. I cannot live without them. It’s not melodramatic, that’s just facts. If they die, I die, simple as that.

All I care about right now is that Nick has a future, a bright and long future ahead of him, in the world that belongs to him. No harm will ever come to him, he’ll be taken care of by a very large number of people, close friends and distant. And that’s all that matters.

I was right to take a couple flashlights: I’m losing daylight by the second. I’m walking uphill towards an uncharted zone that was way off course our current area of investigation. We would have needed months to barely reach the area I’m at, the pace we were. It’s discouraging, considering all the effort and sweat we’d already poured into the mission, to know we were nowhere close to the human cell. Plus, they were on high ground, so they did spend these past few weeks observing us and not the other way around--they’ve been studying us, just like what happened when I attempted to find the caves.

Darkness is slowly falling down around me, I’m exhausted, my heavy breathing and clumsy steps are all I hear, the condensation forming with my every breath and the tracks on the ground is pretty much everything I care to look at. But I do not rest; I force myself to keep going. I don’t know if it’s been just a few minutes or hours since I left Nick--I try so hard not to think of the last glance my son threw at me--and Denny at the campsite, but I do not stop, not for a second. There’s no going back at midday, there’s no caravan waiting for me at the end of the road like a prize. Only my family. Dead or alive, I swear to my ancestors I’ll find them.

Searching through the woods quite desperately, just like in the poem--running faster, on and on, struggling onward, through the dark, through the unkown, searching for something. Someone, on this instance, the family that completes me, that fills me, that I cannot lose. Can a mother who’s carried her baby inside of her for nine months and taken care of said child every single hour of every day since he was born truly know what’s best for the child and be so strong as to leave him behind for his sake, aware that she probably won’t see him again? I’d heard about the amazing, unbelievable stunts mothers did for their sons--sustain torture in order to save them from that same pain, or showing unbelievable strength in order to save them--but I never thought I’d perform one of them. That I’d willingly leave Nick behind bearing in mind I might not be able to go back and see him again. I realize I won’t walk back this path, not on my own, at least. There is no turning back. Just like when I was set in returning Mel to Jared and Jamie and die on their behalf, I’ve reached a no returning point again--and this time I cannot count on anyone doing something out of the blue. My family won’t be able to save me this time from myself and no Soul will reach us in time. Whether I knew it when I started the mission, or when I left camp, this is it. 

Should have realized that the humans would have it easier to track me down, and not the other way around. I was walking completely carefree, finding the human cell being the only goal tonight--I’m pretty sure my footsteps could be heard from the campsite.

On the other hand, the humans are only too used to being in hiding and moving around quietly in order not to be noticed--to being invisible in the midst of a city, even more so in the darkness of the woods.

Anger and determination are washed away in an instant, replaced by the purest and honest terror, when I’m grabbed by two people and throw me to the ground, my last thoughts and prayers addressed to Ian and Nick. My instincts, redefined and rewritten with the time spent with my human family--and after being whisked away by Nicholas Senior’s friends--tell me to fight, in spite of knowing it’s completely futile and I only get grunts and a harsher treatment as a response, pinning me against the cold snow, forcing my right arm into a painful position. They cover my head with something and now my sight is lost too, but, luckily or not, my hearing isn't.

“Jackpot! We got the alien,” says a male voice, triumphantly.

“Yeah, well, let’s get out of here,” scowls a woman. “There’ll be more coming.”

“Please tell me you’re fucking joking.”

“Is any of this remotely funny, you idiot?”

“I’m not bringing it back with us, I don’t care what Martin said!”

“Well, I do care if Martin takes my head off. We’ll do what he said. Put that away.”

My instincts react hearing those last words and I try to shiver, in an attempt to get away from them and from the weapon one of them, or both, must be holding against me. My efforts don’t make a difference; if they were to strike I would be dead either way.

“Stop it, Johnathan,” scowls the woman.

The fact that humans discussing my fate has become a current theme in my life is worrying. I need to change that--like Denny said, I need to stop getting myself into trouble, consciously or not. I just stay quiet and I do not move--either they kill me now or not, I don’t mean to help them making a rush decision. 

“I hate you guys,” sentences the man, Jonathan, spitting--I thank whatever’s covering my face, for the saliva has reached the area of my cheek through the clothing. “We really should kill it off now. The wild animals and the cold will take care of the body--no one will ever know.” 

“Martin will,” the woman points out. 

That response only gets a grunt from the man. 

“This is a bad idea. This centipede will bring back all of its friends!” 

“Might be. But we’re not the ones who make the call. Come on, I’m freezing my butt here. Let’s head back,” orders the woman before Jonathan tries to argue more. 

One of the two humans ties my hands behind by back and the poor experience I’ve got tells me my wrists are bound to hurt in a little while because of the lack of blood in my extremities. I’m hauled up to my feet and I try to keep my balance, knowing me stumbling and being the feeble creature I am will only upset them more. 

“What are you doing?” asks the woman all of a sudden, making me sweat. I’m not doing anything--my prowess to do anything right now is null. 

I feel a sharp pain in top of my skull and then everything vanishes, as if the lights of the world had been all turned off at the same time. 

Next thing I know, a lot of people are yelling my name and asking me how I am, too loud, too close to me, without realizing they’re doing wonders for my massive headache. I try to tell them to stop yelling but I don’t even manage to whimper. The voices only cease when I shiver and try to move, only to find out that I’m still tied up, this time including my ankles. 

Since moving or standing up at all are out of the question, my next great idea is to get back my sight and so I start moving my head vigorously. It doesn’t do well with my headache, but after a couple seconds I manage to shake off the piece of clothing--an old, disgusting rag, now tainted with my blood as well. I guess I don’t really need to worry about long-term consequences, since my prospects of a long existence are null. 

Need a couple of seconds to adjust my eyes to the strange, artificial light in the chambers I’m at, so different from natural sunlight I'm used to out in the Arizona desert and then the missions in the woods. This is strikingly similar to the irregular rock walls from the caves, and I realize I must be inside some sort of cave system in the mountains. I’m guessing the origin probably was some wild animal who lived in here--and the cell just adapted to human life, adding a few blue lanterns on some home-made shelves, for example. 

And then I see right there, in front of me, a sight that has to be a product of my wasted, exhausted, abused, blasted mind. Ian, Jamie, Mel and Jared are all laying in front of me, horror-struck, holding their breath. For a few beats I feel like I’ve found indisputable proof that there is some sort of existence after one full life on Earth. But then I remember I’m not human and that this has nothing to do with the end, or the beginning, of an existence for a Soul. 

“Oh, thank heavens,” I scowl then, letting out all the air I didn’t know I was holding. For they’re all here with me, alive--at least for now. I didn’t think I’d be granted this miracle. I try to turn in order to be more comfortable and see them all without being forced to move my head around too much. 

“Don’t move,” Ian recommends, his voice strained with worry. 

“Are you all right?” I demand. 

“Marvelous,” scowls Jared, his way of saying let’s not drag into it. But I can’t help it. I can tell they’re all tied up from ankles and wrists, but I don’t see them hurt in any other way. 

“I thought you--” 

“We’re alive,” promises Ian before I say the words. “They only took us.” 

“That’s one very positive way of seeing things,” I scowl with a roll of my eyes. “What in the world happened there in the camp? There was a fire!” 

“Well, that’s thank to Jamie,” Mel reports, looking down on our brother, “and his uncanny capabilities with a lighter and one of the camp lanterns. Took us all by surprise too, let me tell you that--nearly had a heart attack right there.” 

“You can bet you’re never going to hold a lighter ever again,” I scowl. 

Jamie just scoffs. 

“You banned me from taking any camp knives and now you include to the list the camp lanterns too?” he complains. He almost, _almost_ , makes us laugh--we’re just bickering like a normal human family, like we used to do everyday before the mission and the atmosphere between Ian and Mel. 

“The first time you cut yourself and nearly died because of the injury, now you set fire to our camp, endangering a toddler’s life in the process, apart from ours,” Jared lists Jamie’s undoings calmly, as if in a trial. “Yes, I’d say this means adding the lanterns to the banned items for you.” 

“Never mind that,” scowls Ian before Jamie drags on the conversation, “how’re you, Wanda?” 

“I’m alright now,” I just sigh--seeing them all just one more time has given me the strength I really needed. “Nick’s alright too,” I say before they have to ask, “I left him with Denny.” 

“I’m sorry we had to leave him locked up inside the caravan,” says Jared, his voice proving more than his words. “We weren’t sure if the humans would be too considerate towards a toddler, human or not. Thought it’d be better to leave him behind, safe from it all. Knew you wouldn’t take too long to reach the camp.” 

“No, it was just a couple hours from town,” I nod. “And he’s alright, really, apart from the fright. Thank you.” 

“Why the hell did you come here?!” brawls Ian then, making me jump. I don’t recall a time when he was angrier at me--except for those first few weeks at the caves when he wanted to kill me, of course. “Why did you put yourself in this kind of danger?!” 

“Hey, what did you expect? That I’d sit back and wait for you to return? What if you didn’t? I had to know!” 

“We’ve more chances than you do,” whispers Ian. However painful it is for him to say it out loud, he just had to. Per usual, trying to get me to open my eyes to the obvious things I refuse to see. 

“Ian,” begs Mel, but this time she doesn’t go on with a string of insults or sarcastic remarks to make him feel worse for his words--there’s no need for that now.

“Anyhow, at least they’ve found us now,” says Jared with a roll of eyes. 

“Yes, such a humongous success,” scowls Mel, looking sideways at Ian. “Saved us weeks of walking and tracking.” 

I look at them alternatively, squinting my eyes. Perhaps it’s the injury on my head or perhaps it’s that I’m as thick a Soul as the next one, but I’m having a real hard time understanding what’s going on here--because I know I’m missing something. The way Mel spoke about and to Ian, it just wasn’t the same as when she used to berate and insult him every chance she got for the past few weeks. She’s not pissed off. Well, at least not at Ian. 

“What am I missing?” I demand in the end. 

They owe me an answer, they cannot deny me of that now, but all three grown-ups remain silent, some avoiding my gaze, some locking eye with me without daring to speak up. Once more, Jamie shows more maturity than any of the rest by giving me a straight response. 

“Let’s just say Mel and Ian have been putting up an act lately,” he says, his voice showing how ridiculous the idea sounds to him. “All that bickering and berating and atmosphere that’s been going on? All part of a grand plan.” 

“Well, maybe not all of it,” reckons Mel, tilting her head. 

“Are you kidding me now?” I demand, disbelieving Jamie’s words and Mel’s attempt at joking. “All the pain and stress you’ve put us through was just--what, a ruse? _A game?!_ ” 

“No, not a game, Wanda, just an elaborate plan you were better off not knowing,” promises the woman, realizing she’d stepped over the line trying to downsize things. “We knew humans would be watching and monitoring us closely from the moment we got close with the Jeep and the caravan. It was safe to assume, too, that they’d feel threatened by our group, however small it was. Hence--” 

“Did your plan take into account Wanda being killed off too?” Jamie interjects Mel’s explanation with a sob. 

At once we forget all about the plan going on behind our backs, our anger for varying reasons and Mel’s explanations, as we try to turn towards the youngest of the group. 

“We’ll talk about this later,” I promise Mel, without knowing exactly what I’m saying or promising: there’ll be no later for me, that’s for certain. I crawl on the hard ground to be closer to the boy. “Hey. Hey, Jamie. Don’t cry. I’m going to be alright, I promise.”

“Don’t you know better than to make promises you cannot keep?” demands a cold and harsh voice that sends shivers down my spine. Our captors are back--and they’ve barely given us any time to say goodbye. 

I recognize the voice. Jonathan--need a few seconds to put a name to the raspy voice that was so keen to kill me last time I was conscious. He’s come accompanied too this time, by a woman, but since she walks straight towards my family and points a gun to them without saying a word, I cannot tell if they’re the same couple who captured me earlier in the woods. 

Jonathan’s as angry as earlier, though: bringing me to their hideaway, wherever it is, hasn’t improved his mood. He grabs me by the hair and drags me some feet away from my family. Ian’s, Mel’s, Jared’s and Jamie’s complains echo with my yell, but can do nothing about the man shoving me against the stone wall. 

After hitting my chest and head against two particularly pointy rocks I fall to the ground again, breathless. It was a long time ago when I promised myself I could stand torture to save my deepest secrets to realize later in the game that I could not--considering how exhausted I am today, I must say I don’t know how much physical abuse I’ll be able to handle before I cave in. 

Jonathan kneels by my side and rests his knee on my back, the pressure he inflicts totally aimed at hurting me. However, he addresses my human family. 

“All right, listen up. We’ve got some questions and you’re going answer them all before we kill you. And you lot better be fucking honest with us, or you’re going to feel the consequences in your very bones,” he says, stating quite simply the rules. “To start with, why were you helping this parasite tracking us down? This thing would never have been able to find us by themselves.” 

Either the terms and conditions or the question baffled my family, but they don’t seem to find the words to answer Jonathan. Which could only piss him off more and that translates with a direct threat to them. 

“Shoot the boy,” he orders the woman, who looks just too glad to comply. 

“ _No!_ ” I shriek as I see the canon of the gun only too close to a shivering Jamie. 

“Hold on!!” begs Mel at the same time, a plea they’ll listen to better than mine. “We’ll tell you everything!” 

“Then start talking, goddammit,” commands the woman. 

“Why were you helping this parasite tracking us down?!” repeats Joanathan, raising his voice so much that it echoes a hundred times in the small cave. 

“We all wanted to find you,” says Jared immediately. I’m not sure saying the first words that pop into his mind is the best choice, but he’s just giving them what they asked for. He keeps his voice even and low, contrary to Jonathan’s and his peer, trying to calm them down. Keeping them talking as long as they can. “Her and us both. We are here with a message for you.” 

Even I can tell the surprise and mockery from the two humans. 

“Oh, a message! Is that so?” scowls Jonathan. “A message of peace from the aliens who nearly wiped us all out?!” 

“No,” replies Ian, shaking his head. “Quite the opposite, actually. It’s a message from humankind. There’re more survivors out there, a whole lot more than you can probably imagine. Millions.” 

“That can’t be true!” shrieks the woman, pointing the gun at Ian. 

“Yes, it is true,” promises Mel in order to avert the woman’s distraction from Ian. “Please, listen!” 

“Why would we lie to you, right now?” presses Jared. 

“You tell me,” challenges the woman. 

“He’s not lying,” insists Mel. “We all know what Souls did to us and to our families. But we’ve come to terms and we’ve understood that they are not really an enemy, they never were. And they never meant to make an enemy of us. We just didn’t understand each other nor attempted to understand the goals of our species.” 

“They’ve now long understood the damage and pain they caused,” resumes Jamie, who I wish would shut up and not risk his neck any more. If one of us if getting out of here alive, it's got to be him. I know my family agrees with me. “They are giving our bodies back, our former lives back. And also our Planet. Dozens of Souls worldwide are leaving the Earth as we speak. Have you taken a look at the sky lately?” 

That last question was uncalled for--even to me, it sounded as if he, a boy, were mocking two grown-up adults who think they know better. Jonathan sinks his knee deeper into my back and his peer points the gun at Jamie, while pointing at me with her free arm. 

“Then why is this one here?! Why couldn’t it leave too?”she demands. 

“First off, she’s our friend,” tries to explain Jared. 

“And the mother of my child--you know, that toddler you left all alone down at the camp?” interjects Ian, a remark I’m not entirely sure was necessary at the given moment. Instead of astonishing and baffling them, it can make them the more angrier at me and at him in particular. Once more, it was off, it sounded as if he was accusing them of something. Which he totally was, he was accusing the two humans of almost endangering a little boy's life all because of fear. 

“How in the mother--” 

“Pretty simple, Carol: the thing brainwashed him alright,” interjects Jonathan. “We knew the aliens were smart little things. But not enough to stay away from us--you just had to come and look for us, didn’t you? You need more subjects for your little war, is that it?” 

“Of course not!” I implore. “It’s the opposite of that!” 

“We came here to tell you that your life’s waiting for you out there!” resumes Mel, since Carol and Jonathan won’t be listening to a single one of my words. “There’s no danger now, you can come out of here and have a normal life wherever you want!” 

“Those are just lies,” Carol says under her breath--convincing herself, I reckon. “You’ve spent too much time under the influence of parasites.” 

“It’s OK, they’ll forget about them soon enough,” reckons Jonathan. 

Upon those words I can't help but shiver. I've been expecting and dreading the moment I heard them. Ian understands the meaning as well and he starts struggling against the ropes tying him down, effortlessly. 

“No!” His is the loudest and most desperate plea I hear, but Jamie, Jared and Mel all start yelling, crying and begging to Carol and Jonathan to wait, listen to them and spare me. 

“In time you’ll see we’re doing you a favor,” promises Carol, observing with satisfaction in her eyes the spectacle in front of her. 

For Jonathan has produced a long knife out of nowhere and has kicked me, hard, between the shoulder blades in order to keep me in place, so I don’t budge or struggle against the weapon, a thought that didn’t even really cross my mind yet. Now I try, even though I’m aware it’s futile. With that knife on his hand, he leans close to my ear. 

“They say you’ve been giving back human bodies, huh? What about you start by giving yours back?” 

There’s no way I can answer him; he won’t believe a word I say. I close my eyes so I don’t have to see the distressed and horror-struck faces of my family members--although I can do nothing about their panicked yells and desperate pleas to both Carol and Jonathan, members of the same species, which to any rational being should mean something. I clench my jaw as Jonathan rests a hand on my cheek to keep me still and get a better angle, but I still can’t swallow back the yells when the knife starts piercing the skin of my neck. 

“This won’t work, you know,” I say in a whisper. Somehow, Jonathan hears me and for some inexplicable reason the words baffle him so much that he stops his torture. The blade inside the tender flesh, he freezes. 

“What was that?!” he demands. 

“Trying to take me out won’t bring this human back,” I say very slowly, because I know how he’ll react to those words, and also because it’s hard to keep up a normal conversation when my neck’s hurting so much. “She is, by your definition, dead.” 

“Why should I believe this is nothing but a rouse not to kill you?” 

“You can’t,” I accept frankly. “But you could ask them,” I can barely motion for my family members, ten feet in front of me, but Jonathan gets the hint alright, looking up at them. 

Even if I’ve opened just the smallest of windows, my family takes it. Anything that’ll prevent another murder. 

“Please, listen. We tried to save that human. We extracted the Soul inside of her,” Mel tries to beg. 

“Lies!” shrieks Carol, alternating the barrel of the gun amongst the four of them as they take turns to speak. “Nothing but rotten lies! There’s still a centipede inside of her!” 

“That was us!” yells Jamie. 

“You put another parasite in her and you claim you saved her?!” 

“No, listen, you’re getting it all wrong. The human didn’t wake up,” tries to explain Ian. “She never regained consciousness after we extracted the former Soul from inside of her. So in order to save her--” 

“You deprived her from a dignified death!” 

“No, we didn't! We gave her another chance at life!” begs Jared. 

“They’re completely nuts,” scowls Jonathan, merely a few inches above me, shivering with rage. “Might as well finish them off too, just to be sure.” 

“No! Listen, please, I beg of you!” The shrieks work this time as well. Perhaps it’s just that the man can't stand me speaking at all. When he stops his torture, although doesn’t move the knife from inside my neck, I resume talking at a normal volume. “Do whatever you want to me. Torture me, take me out of this system, dump my body wherever you want so no one ever finds me. Anything at all. But spare them. Please. They’re human too. Killing them, your brothers and sisters--that would be homicide, if nothing else.”

“Wanda, don’t be stupid,” scowls Ian, close to begging. “Just shut up!” 

“Don’t fight, none of you!” I beg in return, seeing how Ian, if he weren’t restrained, would have jumped to his feet hours ago and kicked Carol and done something worse to Jonathan, weapons regardless. “It’s okay. We knew the risks. Promise me you’ll try to talk to them, afterwards.” 

“ _Shut up!!_ ” command my family, all four members--but their yells are overlapped by Jonathan’s command, shrieked at the same time. And something in the way he spoke, tells me this is it. I can’t hold the tears anymore. 

“Just look the other way, okay?” I ask them as I myself close my eyes. 

All of a sudden everything changes. I no longer feel the knife’s blade torturing my neck, or Jonathan’s knee pressing on my shoulder blades and on the lower part of my back. My brain needs a couple seconds to register there’s been the sound of something hitting something and then, a large body hitting the ground. As I dare to open my eyes, very slowly in case I’m deserving of another blow too for some reason, I see Jonathan on the floor by my side, panting, covering his face with his hands. I try not to hear my urge of getting away from the man who was torturing me until five seconds ago--I know that’ll get me some kind of punishment. 

I’ve seen the expression’s on Jonathan’s face one too many times to realize he’s just been punched, and that he might have his nose broken. 

“What the hell, Martin?!” scowls Jonathan, on the floor, looking at someone standing above me.

Without turning around completely and deserve a punch too, I look above my shoulder. A man close to Andy’s age was the perpetrator of the blow. Looking almost nonchalant for his actitude, he’s rubbing his hand, which can’t hurt worse than the nose he’s just hit. 

“I don’t think we should be pulling triggers so soon around here,” says Martin, his vocie eerily quiet and calm even though he’s just punched one of his peers and they were talking about killing off people under this same roof. “I want to hear their story.” 

“All of that was a whole lot of crap!!” yells Carol. 

“Including the accusation that we’d be committing mass murderer if we killed them all?” demands Michael coldly, an accusation Carol can’t give an answer to. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Jonathan points out, still covering his nose to stop the bloodloss. 

“Aliens? Certainly not,” Martin agrees with such a peaceful and remorseless expression that almost makes me sick. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat in order to keep our shelter safe. But humans? Our own brothers and sisters? The line must be drawn somewhere, guys.” 

“Martin, come on--” 

“There aren’t many of us left as to start killing each other now,” he says. In a move I would have missed had I blinked, he produces a knife out of his rear pocket and substitutes the place of his colleague, only he doesn’t just crawl all over me--his brute strength is just as effective at keeping me down. “You, go get yourself cleaned up,” he orders, clearly addressing Jonathan. The man somehow comes to his feet and without saying any other word, just addressing each of us, including his two human peers, a hatred look, he leaves. Martin doesn’t wait more than five seconds before speaking again. 

“Although things might be changing, apparently?” 

“They are,” promises Mel, desperate. 

“Well, then, start talking. And fast, for your little pet friend’s sake,” suggests Martin. 

“Souls aren’t our enemy,” Ian stats immediately, repeating the same arguments from before, in case this time, somehow, they work. “Human cells all around the world are getting this message too, and coming out of their shelters and seeing this whole new world at their feet. We could certainly coexist with Souls--but they’re being kind enough to leave this Planet and give it back to us. They’re trying to make it up for the wrong they did,” he tries to avoid my eye at those last words, knowing the toll they’ll take on me. 

Martin waves Ian’s words with his hand, proving how unsuccessful they were at changing his mind. 

“Yeah, pure bullshit. Total brainwash.” 

“No, really--” 

Martin moves the knife right where Jonathan had it before, effectively making everyone shut up as I let out an involuntarily yelp. 

“You said you removed the alien from this human’s body and that you put another alien in,” Martin says, proving he’s been listening in for longer than I’d suspected. “Hence, you know how to properly get this disgusting creature out of this woman’s body. Tell me how, right now!!” 

His yell echoes in the small cave as we all ponder the possibilities and chances. The decision is very simple and at the same time, it is not. 

“She won’t survive if you extract her now, here, without the proper equipment,” Ian tries to explain, but he should have learnt already the intricacies of talking reason into deaf by volition people. 

“What makes you think I don’t just want to kill her?” 

Oh, he wants to, and something tells me he’d probably enjoy it too, slaughtering me with his own bare hands, my red and silver blood dripping on his hands still warm. I close my eyes and dare to speak up again. 

“Because you’re not that vindictive,” I whisper. “Yeah, sure, you hate me--me and everything I represent. Because of me and my species you lost your hometown, your job, your life, your family, your friends. Everything you thought you knew. You called it the Apocalypse, the Invasion. . . And it really was. But you’re also kind, and benevolent, and forgiving. And if I may, I’d say you’re tired of running and hiding and having your guards up all the time. Because, quite honestly, I am too.”

That last confession, more than anything else, has completely tired me out. I don’t have anything else to say, not on my behalf, not on my family’s. I’m done with the mission and the planning and the tracking and the exhaustion. I just close my eyes and rest on the ground, at peace for the first time since I woke up with that rag over my head. Whether my speech was useful or not, I’m somewhat ready to face whatever’s coming. 

The man, Martin, shifts and leans forward. Didn’t manage to change his mind either. 

“Tell me how to get you out of this body.” 

I don’t even hesitate this time. 

“Not with brute force, I can promise you that,” I say, my voice even and tired in spite of everything else  

“Wanda, shut up,” Ian commands, but I keep going nevertheless. 

“You have to care for the creature inside of the Host. Coax me out. Welcome me into your hands. Give me a safe and comfortable shelter. Tell me it’s going to be fine, that you’re not going to hurt me afterwards. And I’m all yours.” 

“Is that so?” demands Martin, his voice almost amused at the simplicity of my instructions. 

“That’s pretty much how it works, yeah. Nothing too intricate.”

“Wanda!!” shrieks Ian. I know that if punching me on the face or kicking me was the only way possible to make me shut up, even if it was by knocking me out himself, he’d have done it five minutes earlier, before I said any of this. But he can’t and I’ve already confessed the truth--the one secret I managed to keep for months on the caves, I’ve given it up after a twenty-minute conversation, that didn't even involve any kind of torture whatsoever. 

“Well, let’s give it a try,” says Martin. 

I nod, as if trying to agree and cooperate with the man, and try to relax--it’ll make things a little bit easier for him, for me and for my family. The extraction will be less painful and simpler, it’ll take less time and the whole thing will be over before we know it. But I still need something additional. I open my eyes in a jolt and that movement somehow surprises Martin enough to freeze on the stop. 

“My family,” I beg through my tears. “Let them go. Don’t hurt them, please. . .” 

“You will not be here to see them suffer, honey. Just rest.”

His words are almost kind, the hands holding me down are almost tender, hugging me and embracing for the peaceful and long slumber I’m about to engage. It’s strange to say that I almost get to relax in there, pinned on the ground, with my family member’s yelling pleas of mercy, tears falling down my eyes. I got to say goodbye. I’ve got no regrets. 

Slowly, I force my connections to detach from this host’s nervous system one by one, so the extraction won’t be as forceful to begin with. 

This extraction’s taking longer than usual, I realize all of a sudden, as I’m on standby, holding my breath, on the edge of the small overture in the back of my neck. I don’t hear a gentle voice nor see tender hands coaxing me out and waiting for me, a cryotank at the ready for me to rest till I reach my new home, years from now. The usual expectation and wonder for that whole new world fill me, the little eight-inches creature in the back of the neck, for a few seconds--but don’t distract me for long, really, knowing there’s something bugging me. 

While preparing for an extraction, I tend to deatach myself from the limbs and members first, heart, mind and vital organs later, which takes a lot of my concentration, discerning which of our eight-hundred and twenty-seven connections I can dispose of momentarily until the Healer in question can take me out, promising I can deatach myself from the brain and heart. 

That’s why it takes me quite a while to notice I’ve been waiting too long for the Healer to coax me out. Slowly, as if waking up from a long dream, I reverse the process and reatach some of the connections, trying to get my memories back and understand what’s going on. 

The memories and the meaning behind them--it all comes slowly, one at a time, pieces of a jigsaw puzzle I need to put together, a task almost as difficult as arranging Mel’s memories when I was first inserted into her body. If the Host’s last memories and actions were distressing and frightful, the harder the task becomes and it’s more exhausting for my mind too. 

There isn’t a Healer waiting for me, I shouldn’t have been coaxed out. This should have been one fast, clumsy, painful extraction. Why it hasn’t taken place yet, since the human--Martin--seemed to be in quite the hurry to take me out and kill me, I don’t know. 

I reattach my senses too, sight and hearing--and all the stimuli I receive in the next seconds almost tell me to let go and disconnect them all again. 

Could have expected my family still yelling and pleading, but this isn’t just my four family members. The people shouting aren’t even begging for mercy or calling out to fellow members of the same species, which was some of the last things I remember. No, there’s a different kind of havoc going on. People are coming and going, orders are being issued. Fright, stress, desperation. This is the human cell. What’s happened? 

As I dare to open my eyes, I see first my human family--right where they were the last time I saw them, tied up from ankles and wrists at about ten feet from me. They all sigh in relief but don’t say a single word more, in order not to let anyone else acknowledge me waking up. 

Because, now I can tell, there are a lot more people in here than before I went down. I try to pretend with my body that I’m still under: I close my eyes and try to breathe slowly, my chest moving up and down evenly and deeply. My theatricals haven’t improved that much, but as of now, no one is paying me much attention. 

“Get all the guns and scatter around the mountain,” is Martin ordering right now. 

“Won’t that give our position away too soon?” asks a woman whose voice I don’t recognize. As far as Carol is concerned, she’s gone--and took that hideous gun with her as well. 

“Not if they’re killing shots,” Martin points out and I have to concentrate on hiding a shiver down my spine. “I don’t want any survivors that may follow us. Just give Carol and Matthew time to pack our bags and a few supplies and we’ll get out of here. They won’t be able to follow all of us for eternity.” 

“They’re too close,” complains another woman. 

“Well, maybe getting the guns, defending ourselves and making a way out is a better idea than standing here arguing like fucking morons, Mary!!” suggests Martin, raising his voice out of anger and despair. 

There’re some steps heading away from our little prison, but I sense we’re not alone. Heck, I’m not as stupid as to believe they’ve left us unguarded. 

“What about--” a woman, perhaps Carol, although the voice doesn’t quite match, starts to ask. 

“I’m not wasting ammunition we might need on them,” Martin interjects. I can feel his eyes on me and I just know he’s staring down on me, wondering if it’s worth wasting a bullet to my skull in order to kill me. “Shouldn’t waste any time with them. They’ve been completely brainwashed; we can’t take them with us, wherever we settle. They’d slow us down and I won’t have any of that.” 

“Understood,” nods the woman who could be Carol but also could not be. 

“Listen, you really don’t have to do this,” says Jared--Martin and his friend were talking as if they were alone, after all. “Don’t fight them. I’m pretty sure they’re weaponless.” 

“They fired the first shots, if you must know,” the woman reports. 

I’m as surprised as my family is--thankfully, Jamie’s shocked grunt overlaps with mine. “They cannot be armed.” 

“D’you think I’m lying?” 

“Then they’re not Seekers,” says Mel before Jamie gets into a fight that’s completely out of place right now--although the woman’s response was like openly suggesting if Jamie wanted to have a fight right there. “Don’t fight them. Please! They’re humans and they’re here for you.” 

“Brainwashed too, I’m sure,” Martin points out. 

“No, not at all,” Ian tries to explain. “They’re here for the same mission as we were. They want to save you.” 

“By shooting at us?” demands the woman. 

“That was a mistake, I’ll confess,” accepts Jared, “but if you were to put down your arms and dare to talk to them--” 

“I’m not giving them a chance to kill me,” replies Martin. I can tell we won’t be changing any minds around here, not any time soon, not with the search party coming our way and making the human cell all jumpy and suspicious of anything we might say. We should just give up and let them go--there’s no way of avoiding the confrontation, I know, although it pains me to confess so. 

“Come on, let’s go,” says Martin. 

Only one set of footsteps heads for the exit; I can tell, somehow, that it was the woman who stayed behind. 

“Shouldn’t worry too much,” says Martin, a nonchalant voice too calm for my taste. “The Seekers will find them once they search the caves. And if they don’t, well, they’re going to get what they deserve,” he proceeds, and I’m not sure if he’s trying to convince himself, his peer or our family. “So let’s go--the others need us.” 

“Please,” begs Ian. The thought of the search party not finding us in here and starving to death hadn’t crossed our minds until this moment, but now we’re not scared. “Please, don’t let us in here. What was that about not letting members of your own species die?” 

“It’s not the same when you’ve been brainwashed,” scowls Martin. “Go,” he orders his peer, and this time the woman leaves hurriedly, her footsteps vanishing quickly. 

“Just untie us!” begs Jared before Martin leaves too. “That’s all we’re asking.”

“Not going to happen, boy. You got yourselves into this--don’t blame me.” 

“Please!!” begs Jamie. “We promise you we won’t follow you. But don’t leave us here like this!” 

Martin takes a couple of seconds to answer this time--perhaps Jamie, being the youngest one here, touches a nerve or something. Should have known better. 

“And why should I believe you now?” Is his response. Then, I hear his footsteps as he leaves us, running off into the caves, away from our little prison. 

Perfect, I want to scowl. We manage not to get killed, we manage to endure until the search party reaches our position and we still might end up dead. I rest my forehead against the ground, wishing I was out in the snow again and the cold might help with the headache. Why am I so terribly tired? Oh, wait--I think I do know the answer to that. 

“Whose plan was this again?” I dare to ask, my words barely understandable. 

Jared, Mel and Ian speak at the same time. Jared blames Ian, Mel calls out Jared’s name and Ian assigns blame to Mel. Under impossible circumstances, I allow myself to chuckle--should have expected such an answer from my family. They’re human, after all; their response is almost as natural as Jonathan’s, Carol’s and the rest of the human cell who wanted to kill us off. Although I still need to get some answers concerning the forsaken plan they’ve been carrying out these past few weeks behind my back. 

As I open my eyes to demand such answers, I see they haven’t been quiet and restful while I had a monologue with myself that involved human nature. Jared’s dragging himself on the ground, trying to lie closer to Jamie. 

“Oh, now I’m allowed to--?” 

“Just take it,” scowls Jared with a roll of his eyes. 

To be precise, Jared was trying to form sort of a line with Jamie’s body, since they were lying side by side. Now Jamie can use his teeth to rip off a piece of Jared’s lower trousers, where Jared, per usual, carries his second knife. The relief I feel upon seeing there the blade shouldn’t be possible for a Soul--but I feel like rejoicing and praising the weapon. 

I come down from my cloud when I see Jamie grabbing the knife with his teeth and then crawling a bit--I almost tell him off, when I understand where he’s going--to drop the knife right into Jared’s open palms. I need to swallow down a congratulatory yell--my back is facing the entrance and I can’t see if someone’s nearby, after all. With a lot of practice I don’t want to reflect upon, a consequence of the time Jared spent on the run by himself, Jared slowly gnaws on the ropes tying his hands together until he’s free. He then sits on the ground and with a single blow cuts off the ropes off his ankles. From that moment on, releasing the rest of us is fast and efficient: two swings of the knife and Mel’s free as well, who releases Ian while Jared takes care of Jamie, and then the four of them stand to meet me. 

Jamie and Ian kneel in front of me, already whispering reassuring and calming words, as Mel and Jared take care of my wrists and ankles. 

“Thanks,” I appreciate. 

I try to get into a sitting position too, but no one allows me to. Keeping me down on the floor, much more gentle than Jonathan or Martin ever did, Mel comes to stand within my vision and Jared stays behind my back--a position I’m not too comfortable with, but I know he would never hurt me. As if proving my thoughts, Jared gently collects all of my hair and pushes it away, Mel holding it back in a hurried ponytail, so the man can check the injury on my neck. Ian does the same with the one on my skull. I don’t like the kind of face he makes. 

“Well, it’s not very deep,” says Jared. I’m unable to say if he’s lying--because considering the pain I’m in, I beg to differ. I swallow back the complain, “but I wish we had our medicines.” 

“Don’t you have your equipment with you, Doctor Howe?” I try to joke. No one laughs, which shows how concerned they are for me. I just hope they’re more scared and concerned than they need to be concerning my injuries. 

“Wish I had,” confesses Jared under his breath. “We weren’t exactly allowed to pack.” 

I nod, understanding, on the edge of saying sorry for such an outburst, but they don’t let me put in a single word. 

“Can you stand?” Ian asks me tenderly, reaching a hand out. 

With their help I manage to come to a sitting position, but I stop there, because all of a sudden I’m dizzy and my head spins for three or four seconds. Guessing it wasn’t such a good idea not to eat anything since breakfast--I should have predicted humans wouldn’t take as a duty giving us any food. Although the same circumstance applies to Ian, Jamie, Mel and Jared, so I try not to complain about it. 

Ian rips off a piece, quite sizeable, of his shirt and wraps my neck with it. If it wasn’t Ian doing it I’d start to freak out having another piece of clothing around my neck, but there’s nothing the man could do that’d make me fear him, not ever. Takes me a second too long to realize he’s just tying the clothing around my neck to prevent bloodloss--and before he’s finished, Mel’s ripped off a piece of her shirt too and does the same with my injury on the forehead. I don’t know what’s the result and I really don’t dare to ask how I look. I have blood all over my face and shirt--I don’t look remotely okay. 

Behind me, Jared clicks his tongue. He’s not the only one who wishes he had the Souls medicines with him right now. But, as soon as we find a Healer, or any of the search party members really, I’ll be okay, so it won’t take much longer, fortunately. 

“What now?” asks Jamie, resting a hand on my shoulder. 

That’s a marvelous question, I want to nod, looking alternatively between Ian, Mel and Jared. We cannot leave this small cave until we’re certain all the members of the human cell are gone for good--but then the search party could confuse us with members of said cell and take a shot at us too. On the other hand, we cannot stay in here forever. I for one need medical attention and don’t really fancy starving to death. 

At that precise moment we hear the first shotguns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem mentioned at the beginning (in case anyone's curious) was written by Justis Reyes, and it goes like this: 
> 
> **Searching Through the Woods**  
>  Searching through the woods  
> Running faster, on and on  
> Searching for something.
> 
> Looking, searching. Why?  
> Desperately running, running  
> No rest no peace, ever
> 
> Struggling onward  
> Through the dark, through the unknown  
> Will I ever find it?


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our family is found hiding inside the cave, but it could either be the rescue party or the human cell coming back to kill them off before running away. . .

My first reaction to the shooting is to close my eyes and freeze. With my back still facing the cave’s entrance, I couldn’t be totally sure that one of the humans hadn’t decided to return and kill us off out of spite. I almost expect to feel the sharp pain of being hit by a bullet. 

But then I realize that the noise didn’t match the place we’re in; we’d have heard a much greater echo and probably gone deaf after such a loud explosion going off in here. So when I open my eyes I follow my family’s gaze and turn around, slowly and carefully, towards the cave’s entrance. 

The bullets might not have been for us, but they’re directed at someone nonetheless, and a full-out shooting has started somewhere nearby. Humans and the search party, which is formed, at least partially, by humans too, are shooting at each other. Where in the world did the search party get a hold of guns powerful enough to compete with the old weapons humans used to have, I don’t know, and this time a sting of remorse hits my heart for feeling remotely glad that they came prepared. Humans shouldn’t be fighting humans in the first place and that’s the end of it. 

I turn to look at Mel, Ian, Jared and Jamie again. Well, this settles it: there’s no way we’re going to get out of this cave for the time being, not while the shooting is going on outside. They seem to reach the same conclusion as me, because they all nod in turn without saying a single word out loud. Even coming from humans, it’d be crazy to do anything but staying: we’re weaponless and without medicines. We cannot risk meeting any of the members of the human cell or being caught in the crossfire. 

“At least let’s not just stay here,” says Jared. 

Because I know what he meant I don’t make a fuss: he just wants to get out of the way, wait in a corner, perhaps in the shadows. Just in case someone did come back. We wouldn’t stand a chance either way, but our backs against the wall, eyeing the entrance, feels safer. 

With tender, with care--in one word, with love--the four help me up and take me to one side of the cave and then help me sit down again. Ian sits behind me, letting me lean against his chest, between his legs, more comfortable and warmer than the hard and cold stone floor; Jamie settles by my right and Mel sits to my left, Jared behind her. I’m in contact with all four of them at the same time, which makes me feel as protected and shielded as that one time in the cave’s playroom, during Kyle’s trial, where I sat down in a corner, in the midst of the small group of humans who believed in me and trusted me. 

And I really need a support system right now. Every time there’s another gunshot I shiver--only partially due to the lack of a parka--and Ian leans to kiss me gently on the shoulder, never too close of my wound on the neck, Jamie squeezes my hand, Mel caresses my knee and Jared promises it’s going to be alright. I appreciate the lie nonetheless. 

Few minutes in I realize I can’t stand the silence anymore. 

“So, this plan of yours,” I start off. “When did it start exactly?” 

They look uncomfortable--they’d prefer any other subject than this one, I know--but they also agree that talking, even if it’s about this, is better than silence. 

“More or less at the beginning of the mission,” says Mel. 

“You’re kidding me now,” I grunt, hiding my face against my hands. Ian caresses my back in an attempt to lift my spirits--and fails. 

“We did talk about what was best for the mission before leaving Washington DC,” he points out. 

“So you’ve been keeping up this charade for the past two months?!” 

“Wanda, we knew they would feel threatened whatever we did,” Mel tries to explain something she should know I won’t understand. “Even if it was one Soul and one human, they would be scared as hell. We needed a reason, a believable reason, to split up our group at some point. We realized that splitting up to go shopping didn’t have the success we were looking for. So, our little feud--” 

“ _Little_ feud?” I explode, flabbergasted, trying to turn and look at Ian and Mel in the eye. I can’t pierce them with my glare, however--the angle’s too deep and my neck hurts. “I thought you guys hated each other!” 

“Being truly honest, I did, for a while,” confesses Mel, sharing one strange look with Ian that I don’t care to put a label to. “But we did come to terms before the start of the mission. Holding grudges and hating each other was in no way what we needed for the mission to succeed.” 

“And why couldn’t I be in on the plan?” I demand, my voice a whisper now. 

“Wanda, you cannot keep a secret for your life,” jokes Mel. But not even the funniest joke in the world could possibly make this situation any better. “You couldn’t keep up the charade, not for so long. And it had to look real for those watching and listening us.” 

“It looked real alright,” Jamie nods, his voice deep and frustrated. He’s been through Hell the past few weeks too, but I can tell, deep down he feels bad because they didn’t tell him about the plan. “Felt like it too.” 

“Well, at least it worked,” Ian sums up, as if all was good already. 

“And may I know what would you have done hadn’t you been so upset with Ian because of what happened at his father’s shelter?” I demand coldly. 

Mel just shrugs--a minor problem to the plan. “We would have found something else. Remember, we’re humans and we can quarrel about mostly anything. Jared and I were already prepared to pretend a big fight between us when that whole story came out.” 

“Well, I’d have preferred that you and Jared made up the charade, honestly,” I scowl, but two seconds later I sigh deeply, closing my eyes, and the apology’s at the tip of my tongue already when I’m interrupted. Of course I didn’t mean it--I’d have lived much better if no one had been fighting constantly for the past two months. 

“Like I said, all’s good now,” whispers Ian, caressing my cheek. “But what I couldn’t believe when they told me is that you should have left the camp as well,” he resumes, directing an infuriated glance at me. 

“Sorry for not acting like I should have in a play I didn’t know I was in!” I exclaim. I try to shift away from Ian and Mel, but I have nowhere else to go and they don’t let me stand. “Forgive me for overreacting when I thought my family was coming apart! Truly, I apologize!” 

“Okay, maybe this is not the best time to discuss this?” suggests Jared, his voice restraint and sullen. 

I stop talking immediately--I know I raised my voice too much. We’re still trapped in a cave that belongs to a human cell who wishes us all dead. We all fall in silence again, although there’s still a lot to say--heck, there’s a thing or two I need to tell Ian and Mel, and also Jared for keeping the secret and participating in the quarrel too. But there’ll be time for all that, later, when we get out of here safe and sound and meet the search party. 

Then again, silence allows us to hear everything else going on--every one of those gunshots. I shiver time and time again. Not knowing, and not being able to get any answers for the time being, is the worst. We cannot tell who’s the one shooting, which team has the upper hand, if there have been losses. We just can wait here. 

“Do you guys remember who Semele was?” says Jamie all of a sudden, some minutes later, after I shiver again. I smile--Greek mythology is as good a neutral subject as any other to kill time while we’ve got nothing else to do. 

“If you told us, I don’t recall,” confesses Mel with honesty, because I did tell our family, some time back, about Semele, one of the multiple lovers of Zeus and incidentally, one of Zeus’ priestess, who begged to see Zeus in his natural form and died because of her wish--for no human can see a God’s true form with their mortal eyes and live to tell the tale. 

Jamie keeps us distracted for a good fifteen minutes with varying myths--from Selene to Titholous to Euridices. It does good to keep my mind busy with something else than the gunshots and the confrontation taking place a few miles from us, which may explain the dark turn of the exposition: he only talks about myths with tragic endings. Even Mel calls him out on it, although it’s nothing more than a mild, caring reproach: we all appreciate Jamie’s efforts.

Then, all of a sudden, he stops talking. He was just explaining Jocasta’s myth, I think--I was so comfy in Ian’s arms, so warm in the middle of our little group, and so tired after today and every day since the beginning of the mission, that I was this close to dozing off. I need some long seconds to realize Jamie’s shut up without any apparent explanations and that I haven’t actually fallen asleep and then I need the longest time to understand why: the gunshots have stopped.

I realize I’m late to the party--everyone else is looking out of the cave’s entrance, tensed, alert. They’ve all noticed the silence way earlier than I did, proving, once more, that humans are much more prepared for surviving out there.

“Maybe I should--” Jared tries to suggest.

“No,” I whisper. There’s no way I’m allowing anyone to venture out inside of the unknown caves, unaware if there are humans nearby.

“Don’t you dare,” forbids Mel, her grunt quite more definitive that my plea.

“Do you plan on staying in here forever?” demands Jared coldly.

“Of course not,” scoffs Mel. “Just a little while longer. So we know it’s safe.”

“We’ll never know it’s safe if we don’t investigate,” presses Ian--feels kind of strange, him agreeing with something Jared or Mel say. For the past months they’ve been arguing about everything and anything at all.

“Just--give it two minutes,” suggests Mel.

No one argues this time; no one wishes to get out of the relative safety of this little cell and come out to the unknown--to the extremely dangerous unknown. We stay there quietly and without moving, not saying a word, practically holding our breath. Although the two minutes mark was just a random idea from Mel, we abide by it as if it had been a suggestion from Jeb himself. And since nothing has changed yet, no more shots, no yells, no one coming to fetch us, either to save us or kill us all, we remain there for two more minutes. And then we stay for two minutes more.

I’m pretty sure we’ve past the six-minute mark by the time there’s change again. We hear footsteps. Footsteps and yells--and it’s more than just one or two people. This time I can tell I’m not the only one who visibly shivers. Ian hushes me, a bit desperately, I can tell, as he kisses my hair tenderly, not removing his eyes from the entrance.

In the end we realize we’re just a bunch of cowards and that we really can’t stay in here for the rest of eternity. Jared, once more, is the one who tries to stand--and this time no one stops him, although I think he hoped someone would. He walks towards the lantern hanging from a shelf which produces an eerie blue light.

Jared looks at us over his shoulder. He doesn’t look too pleased with what he sees. I understand he’s trying to make some sort of contingency plan in case we’re received by one of the humans and that his ideas don’t prove to be that quite successful: there’s no place to hide and we’ve got no weapons with us.

“Split,” he orders, without much emphasis. “Scatter around. Back facing the wall. Ian, stay with Wanda.”

Although Jared himself doesn’t sound too pleased with the idea--this might just give us a few more seconds, nothing more, much less a factual chance at fighting back--we all listen to his suggestion. Mel and Jamie, after squeezing my hands, stand and hide on a corner to the right and to the left, respectively. Ian doesn’t budge from behind of me, but helps me get more comfortable in his arms--coaxes me to lean on his chest, as he rests his chin on his shoulder, in an attempt to soothe me.

Jared stares intently at all of us as we shift positions. The changes don’t please him, but there’s nothing else to suggest, at least without leaving this small shelter within the enemy’s nest, and the chances of being caught in maybe a few minutes. He then turns off the lantern and we’re left in the darkest of darkness ever imaginable--not a single beam of light comes from the exterior. I force myself not to think how far away from the entrance of the caves we might be--I just try to cuddle closer to Ian and he, as a response, kisses me on the head, careful not to even graze any of my wounds.

The yells and instructions all blur together due to the long corridors and echoes, but one thing is certain: some people are coming this way. Whether they are the humans returning to kill us or the search party, there’s no way to know--and by the time we figure it out it might be too late for some of us. Depends, of course, on the amount of people we’ll be receiving; Jared, Mel, Ian and even Jamie could take care of one or two people, at least trying to convince them to surrender, momentarily. I’m not able to make an estimated guess.

I am not human, alright: Ian’s got a finer hearing than I do. He turns towards Mel and whispers a single number:

“Three.”

The grunt I hear in response, somewhere in the darkness, confirms Ian’s estimate. 

Oh, no. If it’s just three people, they might attempt to fight them. And if they’re all humans, this might become a bloodbath I’ve got no interest in witnessing.

As if confirming my worst fears, Ian releases his hold on me and starts to stand up. I try to stop him, but since I could never overpower him physically and don’t dare to utter a word, I fail miserably. Ian just kisses me on the forehead as he walks backwards and then he turns to the right.

"Come here, Jamie,” he orders.

Somehow, the boy manages to stand and get to my position in the midst of the deepest darkness without stumbling with his own feet or falling. He substitutes Ian by sitting behind me and grabbing my arms. I hold him tightly, not because I’m scared, but because I don’t plan on letting him go easily nor allow him to participate in the attack, should there be one--I can no longer feel Ian’s presence nearby, meaning he is ready and willing to fight.

And the chance will arise alright, unfortunately.

“Check every corner,” orders a woman--her voice low, restrained, distressed.

The words send shivers down my spine and I have to swallow back a whisper. Jamie squeezes me tightly in a silent reminder to keep quiet. I’m having a hard time keeping my nerves in, actually, even though I know our lives quite depend on it--but I must bite my lip in order to stop myself from begging them, whoever they are, not to come any closer, or maybe that this cave becomes invisible all of a sudden and that they don’t see us.

I’m literally begging for a miracle by the time there’s a significant change, in the form of a fainted, blue light. Despite my desperate and silent wishes, the people holding the lantern come irretrievably closer, closer to a trap, to a fight no one really wants to take part in.

But then again, I notice there’s something weird with that light. As the person comes closer, I realize that light is actually two spots of a strange blue gleam, and that they’re not right in height either: no one holds a lantern that high, they’d get tired all too soon carrying even the smallest lantern. And it does seem like a small lantern, since it’s not such as bright light as one could hope coming from a camping lantern to shed some light into the dark cave. Funnily enough, for once I’m the first one to figure it out.

“Don’t fight them,” I say raising my voice. Jamie jumps behind me and although I can’t see it, I sense the surprise, and anger as well, from each of my family members. “They’re Souls. We’re in here, guys!”

While Jamie grunts--the rest of my family can keep quiet still, although they must be planning some ways of killing me off for good right now--outside of our little cell the footsteps vanish, the Souls as surprised as Ian, Jared and Mel for my speaking out loud. Few seconds in, we hear the clicks of some lanterns being turned on and then the footsteps again, joined now by those glimmering eyes and the bright beams of light of the lanterns. 

“Wanda?” asks a male voice.

I sigh in relief, completely giving in now--I was nearly 98 percent certain they were Souls, but for some reason I feared I was wrong. Well, not some reason exactly: if I was wrong, my family would pay a very high price. Luckily, absolutely no one in the world but Souls could know my name--and identify me after saying just a couple of sentences.

The Souls finally reach our cave, although I can’t see their faces behind the beams of light that blind us. At some point, when they lower their lanterns instead of reaching out for guns, Jared turns on his lantern too, so in a matter of minutes our eyes have to adjust from the absolute darkness to the light of four lanterns.

By then, our rescue party has scattered around, addressing each of us, asking if we’re all okay. Jamie, Jared, Mel and Ian’s answer is identical: they nod in turn and then point at me, so there’s no way I can avoid being the center of attention today. Then again, I need some attention, although it’d be preferable if there was a Healer amongst them.

“Hello, you lot. Fancy seeing y’all alive,” says one of the males--a human, as a matter of fact. Who else could ever greet us like that given the situation we’re in. Seems like I wasn’t completely right after all.

“Manners, please,” scowls one of the Souls, passing by the human and coming by my side. “Well, you’ve all met Charlie, our nicest and charming partner. I’m Eladine and this is Sanyang.”

“Nice to meet you too,” says Jared, although his voice sounds nothing but. They understand why only too well.

“Everything’s over now,” says the second Soul, Sanyang, his voice even and serious, looking alternatively at every one of us so we’ll have it easier believing his words. They still come as a shock to some of us, though. 

“What does that mean?” I ask in a whisper. I don’t dare to ask directly about the number of casualties or injured. Hearing the gunfight was terrible enough.

“It means you can rest now,” says Eladine, kneeling behind of me. Carefully, she takes off the bandages covering my injuries--and does her best not to shiver or throw up before putting it all back up again. She then shifts on her knees and grabs something. “Take these, please, Wanderer,” she begs, handing me a can of No Pain. 

Before I have to raise my hand and grab the can, Ian takes it from the Soul’s hands, opens it up for me and even holds one of those little squares of medicine out for me. I open my mouth and let him feed me as if I was Nick; and then he hands me a canteen, offered by Sangyang, to help me swallow better. I return it with a big sigh of relief, knowing the pain will vanish within minutes. 

“Don’t you have with you more of those medicines?” presses Ian. “Cleaner, Heal, Seal?” 

“Afraid Healer Metzler's got them all with her,” says Eladine, almost as if asking forgiveness for such a clumsy thought. Next second, she speaks to the intercom on her wrist. “Healer Metzler, we need you in the caves. Please come ASAP.

“Will one of you wait for her at the entrance and show her way in?” she asks after ending the call phone. At once, the male nods and turns to leave the cell. When his footsteps vanish we’re all silent for a few seconds. But curiosity strikes us all too soon.

“Will one of you tell us what happened out there?” asks Jared then.

Eladine and Sanyang exchange one aboveboard and not at all furtive look that none of us misses, not even me--since I’m looking forward to hearing that answer as anyone else in the cave. They still try to avoid answering, though.

“Let’s not worry about it now,” suggests Eladine.

“I say we do,” scowls Mel just when I was about to talk, almost running over the Soul’s words.

“What happened?” Ian presses.

By the deep sighs coming from Sanyang and Eladine, we can guess the situation outside is not good. But we do not want to guess, we want a definitive answer—and so I don’t even have to say it out loud before Ian insists on them giving us some sort of explanation. Since they’re two Souls, they simply cannot deny giving us what we ask for. Should have guessed this was a lost battle from the beginning.

“The Healer had to take care of a couple of Souls from the search party and a couple of humans from the cell,” explains Eladine.

We wait for a couple seconds, but inexplicably, it seemed that was her whole explanation.

“May we get the long version, please?” demands Jared after a beat, quite exasperated.

Eladine sighs, probably reckoning she should have guessed we wouldn’t be too pleased with such an answer, and takes a deep breath in order to start again. But then, something saves her—not exactly a bell, but some footsteps.

“I think I hear the others coming. We’ll talk when the Healer has cleared you all.”

Since the Healer makes her appearance at that moment, accompanied by Charlie and, to my surprise, Denny, we cannot insist now. The Healer comes running to my side as soon as she sees the bloody bandages on my forehead and neck—needn’t to have it all pointed out for her. She kneels behind me, provided that Eladine moves away, and checks my injuries.

“Wanderer, my name’s Metzler--I worked at the Bethesda Healing Center before joining the mission,” she greets, her voice warm and calm as to soothe me. “We’re going to take good care of you. Lie down for me, will you?”

I do as she says. I would have needed to lie down soon enough in any case. But as I comply, I keep my eyes locked with Denny’s. He avoids my gaze, which after all must mean he knows what I’m thinking and what I’m about to ask him--demand, really.

“Tell me everything,” I say coldly, although it is more of an order. “Starting from the moment when you decided to leave my son behind?”

He raises both his hands--not that that’s going to protect him, from either my words or an attack from Ian.

“I didn’t leave him all alone in the woods,” he scowls. “I left him with Jeb, if you must know. He came as soon as you sent the distress signal.”

“Jeb did?” asks Mel--probably wondering where her uncle is at the moment.

“Of course he did,” nods Denny.

“And it wasn’t just Grampa Stryder who showed up,” comments Sanygang under his breath, “a good few volunteers contacted Council to receive authorization for coming up here. And some did without authorization, mind you.”

“Is this true?” I ask Denny, who holds my gaze this time and sighs deeply, his way of showing that he feels the same I do. We all appreciate the concern and willingness to help us, but there are hundreds of other humans in need of our help and our little group isn’t worthy of forgetting about everyone else and abandoning their mission. Plus, it’s way too soon for the rescue party to be here already; I reckon they dispatched both the drones and the rescue party at the same time, just in case--in deference to our group. That shouldn’t have been, but I can’t complain when they literally saved my life.

While Mel holds the bandage on the injury on my head with one hand and my hair with the other, Healer Metzler works on my injury on the neck. I have no problem with performing extractions and insertions in times of emergency, or healing someone’s wounds--but when it comes to me, I have a hard time coping. Feeling the Healer’s fingers holding my pierced skin in order to stitch it and hearing her using the Cleaner and Smooth, it’s difficult, even with the No Pain aerosol she used on my wound.

“Well, he showed up about the same time as the rescue party,” proceeds Denny, “and arguing his youth days are well over now, he said he’d take care of Nick. Felt better to leave the toddler with someone he knows, so I joined the rescue party. We started off the tracking at the camp and followed the Jeep tracks or, more like it, Wanda’s tracks--took us couple hours to reach the point where she was taken.”

I shiver at remembering the all-too-recent experience of being kidnapped again and having humans discussing my fate--again. Ian rests a hand on my shoulder, wishing the Healer wasn’t there so he could just hug me and comfort me. But Healer Metzler is there, and so she asks me to stay still for just a little while longer.

“From then it wasn’t long before we encountered humans. Well, they encountered us, really,” says Denny. “Fired the first shots.”

“They said _you_ fired the first shots,” says Jamie, eyebrows frowned. It surprised us all the minute the human, Martin, told us about it--that now the story should change confuses us all even more.

Denny tilts his head, sharing one look between the Souls and the human from the search party.

“Technically, we _did_ fire the first shots, but not _at_ them,” he says. “We hadn’t even located them yet. And we may never have hadn’t they shot us back.”

“So no harm done in the end,” replies Charlie, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Four people were injured as a result of that horrible and hideous gun fight,” the Healer behind me points out, her voice as harsh and anger as a Soul can truly be. “Some terrible damage was done, Charlie--and all because you got scared of a bear.”

“A _bear_?” I shriek, trying to turn around--and only the joined efforts of Ian, Mel and the Healer manage to stop me and not ruin Frost’s efforts. “Did you harm him?”

Charlie stares at me blankly--surely he’d think I should be asking if he was harmed in any way. Surely he hasn’t spent that much time with Souls. It’s not that I don’t care about him, but I’ve already see him running and talking and walking normally, so I know he’s safe and sound; and an encounter between a bear and a human could be fatal for both animals.

“No, I fired and scared him away,” says Charlie very slowly--the look on his face astonished and unbelieving. “The same shot that freaked the human cell the hell out.”

“But--you didn’t shoot the bear?” I insist.

“I’m sorry--No, I did not shoot the damned bear,” repeats Charlie, ever so slowly, raising his voice as if speaking to a retarded person. “Only fired a warning shot.”

“Hey, if you can’t act like an adult, I’m going to ask you to leave,” scowls the Healer.

Charlie bursts out laughing. “Oh, confess it, you’ve been waiting to say that ever since we’ve met.”

“Since I'm a Soul and I won't lie, I'll just shut up,” confesses Healer Metzler under her breath, a way of avoiding the subject that answers the subject altogether. Understanding, Charlie nods once and moves on.

“Plus, there’s no way I could have hurt the damned bear, shooting buckshot bullets,” adds Charlie, his hands on his hips, sounding and looking exhausted.

“You were--you were only shooting buckshot bullets?” asks Ian, thoroughly surprised, the good way, just like Jared, Mel, Jamie and I are. The same way the members of the rescue party are surprised because of our shock.

“Of course we were,” scoffs Sanygang. “Why’d you think differently?”

“The humans had real weapons. With real bullets,” says Jared, exposing two of the very reasonable reasons as why the search party, although I hate to even think the words, would carry real, loaded weapons.

“And our aim wasn’t to harm them,” says Sanygang, deadpan serious. “It never was.”

After those words I can’t help but to glance at Ian and the rest of my human family. They’re not too shaken up by the memory of the suffering and the pain they were all put through under the claws of us the Souls--but maybe they’re all just too shocked by the kidnapping and all.

“You took some very unnecessary risks,” Mel can’t help to point out.

“We’ve done enough damage as it is already,” resumes Eladine, her voice sullen, her composure distressed too, “we didn’t mean to increase the death toll now that we’re supposedly at peace. We came here tonight to find group number 0003 and return them to Towaoc, then to the Council, safe and sound. Nothing more was written on the job description.”

We all fall dead silent after those words. Incidentally, they’re nothing but the truth, but still it strikes as somewhat of a surprise to some. We’ve done a great deal of damage to this Planet and, in spite of what Ian tells me time and time again, we are trying to make up for it and will be for a long time to come. It’s just who we are as species. The remorse will also haunt us for the next few centuries--that’s a fact.

For a little while, all we hear is our breathing, more erratic in some cases than others, and Healer Metzler working on my wounds with the occasional help of Ian and Sanygang--although anyone could be the assistant, really. At some point she lays a warm hand on my shoulder and throws a heating blanket over my shoulders. 

To finish, the Healer throws a thermal blanket over my shoulders. 

“I’m all done here, dear. Think you can stand?” 

“Certainly,” I promise. 

I don’t have to bring myself to try--before I attempt to make any effort, Ian kneels by my side and hauls me up bridal style. I don’t even argue, I know he can carry me, and instead I just wrap the blanket tighter around my body. 

“Think you can carry her all the way down?” the Healer asks instead. 

“Certainly,” promises Ian, who for one isn't lying. 

“Then let’s get out of here,” suggests Jared, his tone sharp and angry, but we all want to leave the caves. 

Even with Ian carrying me, our pace is slow and careful, as if I were on my own--I’m still weak because of the shock, the commotion and the bloodloss, Frost Healer says. I’m pretty sure more than two people are wishing to leave us behind and keep going at a more normal pace, but no one mentions it out loud. Jared, Mel, Ian and Jamie look just as tired as I am. 

Sanygang comes out from one of the halls--when did he leave in the first place?--with some coats for my family members, who accept them without arguing, either, and put them on without stopping. 

“How big are the caves?” 

“Oh, we checked the whole place, do not worry,” promises Charlie. Misinterpreting Mel’s question altogether. 

“I wondered about how many people lived in here,” she insists, “and if you found them all.”

“We saw six humans,” says Eladine. “By the time we entered the caves to find you, we’d found five of them.” 

“Certainly they wouldn’t use the word found,” scowls Jamie under his breath. 

“You could say that again,” says Charlie, tilting his head to one side. “Entrapment, is one that comes to mind. Or ruse.” 

“Tell me something,” begs Mel. “If you only had joke guns and weren’t trying to hit anyone, how come there were two humans injured?” 

“Like she said, they tried to escape,” explains Healer Metzler, the one who, apart from Mel and Jamie, stands closer from me and Ian. “Trying to run in these mountains is suicidal. Trying to escape from someone and firing a gun at the same time is plain stupid.” 

I’m barely conscious for these explanations. Strange as it is, I’m incredibly comfortable in Ian’s arms, in spite of all the movement up and down with each of his steps, but I somehow manage to doze off and I even close my eyes briefly a couple of times. I do wake up in a jolt on our way down the mountain, since carrying me destabilizes Ian oftentimes, though I feel safer than ever nonetheless. But when we enter one of the Jeeps and I can finally lay down for real, resting on Ian's lap with the heater on, I can finally rest for real. The last images my eyes catch are Ian‘s concerned face and the mountain we have just descended behind of him--and I'm glad I was out of it for all the trip back, I know for a fact I couldn't have been able to descend that. 

The nap is long and restful enough for me to actually get some energy back. When I'm awoken by a couple Healers opening the Jeep’s door and checking my pulse while calling for a stretcher, I don’t even complain. 

As they take me out of the vehicle on the stretcher, I realize this cannot be Towaoc--there was no Healing Center in that small town. Wherever we are, however, news have preceded us: there are one too many people at the hospital’s entrance asking about the ending of the mission and our well-being. Thankfully they take me inside without any stops and I’m not forced to answer any of those people. 

The lights inside hurt my sensitive eyes and I keep them shut for the most part--but I get an idea of what’s going on around me thanks to everything I hear. The Healing Center was most certainly not prepared, not warned, upon receiving two injured humans and three injured Souls all of a sudden. Nonetheless, no one can say they’re not fully capable professionals: they’re holding up, despite the overwork and stress. 

Or so I thought until I hear yells and shouting that don’t belong to any nurse or Healer. I can instantly tell they can only belong to a human. We’re way past the emergency room where the injured are, so this is something else altogether. 

I raise my arm and that simple move is enough to halt the whole entourage. Thinking I’m in some kind of pain or something, Ian immediately leans closer, searching my face for the answer. I don’t return his gaze. 

“The yelling. . .” I simply say as explanation. 

At that Ian frowns deeply. He knows what I’m talking about, he just doesn’t want me to see. Or hear it. 

I try to sit in the stretcher and I find it’s harder a task I had thought. Jamie helps me stand, supporting part of my weight on my back, and I just get to see through a one-way window, to a white room with cushions on the walls and the door, with a bed, a sink and a toilet as the only furniture. There’re two people in the inside: one’s back’s facing us so I cannot tell who that is, but the other one, I know him alright. 

It’s Martin. 

A shiver runs down my spine as the too recent memories flood my brain while his panicked yells fill my ears and won‘t be able to ever leave me. 

“Leave me the fuck alone!” commands Martin. 

“Like I said, I won’t do that,” says the other person in the room, a male human, his voice almost even. 

“Is that an observation room?” I ask in a whisper, signaling the other wall, with a one-way window just like the one we’re staring at. “Take me there.” 

“Wanda, you don’t need to--’” 

“Now,” I command. 

For some reason I can‘t exactly explain myself either, they do as I say. One of the nurses opens the door of the observation room, where I count ten people present, amongst Healers and what else. Except for one, they all turn and just look astonished at seeing me coming in on a stretcher. 

“What is she doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be running some checks on her?” 

“Yes, but--”

“Well, get going, man!” 

“She wanted to see,” says one of the Healers, openly embarrassed, but he still drags the stretcher up front, right in front of the mirror. 

“We all did,” Mel points out, standing by my side. 

The Healers might consider they have to talk it out at greater length, but in there Martin‘s still shouting and arguing with the other man, another human, as it turns out--and that catches all our attention. 

“ _No! Those are just lies!_ You were _all_ taken! That's why we had to flee!” 

“Listen--six people now have tried to tell you that what you believe to be false is nothing but true. Doesn’t that tell you something?” 

“Yes, that I live in a world full of liars! Made by nothing but big, rotten, awful lies!” 

“For the last time, we are not lying.” 

“You _must_ be! Everyone was taken! There are no humans left!” 

“And you couldn’t be more wrong, Martin. There are a lot of humans left out there, more than you can possibly imagine. What am I, if not a human?”

“You’re one of them! One of those aliens!” 

“No, I am not, I promise," chuckles the other man. "I’m human, just like you.” 

“Why would you try to convince me that there’s no danger for me out here if not in order to insert one of you inside of me?” 

“There’s no danger because no one will try to harm you anymore. No alien will be inserted inside of you. In fact, if there had been an alien occupying your body, we would have taken care of it by now.” 

“You just said you wouldn’t kill anyone, enemy or ally!” 

“That’s because there are no more allies or enemies, Martin. We’re all in good terms now. As a matter of fact, the Soul who occupied my body left voluntarily so I could resume my previous life.”

“After brainwashing you and making sure you’d follow blindly their crusade!!” 

“No one’s brainwashed me, trust me. And there are no crusades. No one’s fighting anyone.” 

“What was that earlier?!” 

“That was our mistake," grants the human, tilting his head in regret. "I’ll confess that. But you don’t have to consider Souls your enemy, Martin, because they’re really not.” 

“So are humans my enemy, then?” 

“No enemies, remember? They’ve helped us create a whole new world for us. There’s no need to fight, or to argue, or to go to war with anyone.” 

“Because they said so?” 

“Martin, look at me in the eye. See? See the difference? I’m not an alien. I haven’t been brainwashed. I’m a human being, just like you and your friends from the caves. Until very recently I was in hiding too.” 

“Don’t come near me!!” orders Martin, waving his hands like crazy in order to stop the man's advance. He was trying, I gather, to approach Martin as to get him to calm down and sit down, have a more reasonable, sensitive conversation. 

“You’re not going to hurt me." 

“I might surprise you.” 

“Please, Martin. Can we sit? Let’s start over.” 

“You’re not inserting one of those inside of me!” 

“I never said that’s what I wanted to do. You see, I just want to talk.” 

“As long as you stay over there,” Martin orders, pointing at the end of the room. 

“Does this mean you’re willing to listen?” 

“What do you have to say that you haven’t already?” 

“Lots,” promises the man in a chuckle. “Believe me, there’s so much I can tell you.” 

“ _Like what?!_ How amazing life can be with one of those parasites inside of me?!” 

“Oh, quite the opposite, really. I’m not trying to recruit you for anything, Martin. But you must see there’s nothing to fear anymore.” 

“Except for you and all those aliens watching?” 

“None of us is a threat to you.” 

“Says you.” 

“Yes, okay, but you need to take a leap of faith and trust me on this one. Look, what can I do to make you trust me?” 

“Let me go?” 

“I think we both know that is out of the question, Martin.” 

“How do you suggest I trust you instead?!” 

“By telling you about how I lost my wife and children to the Souls? By how I mourned their losses while being on the run? Hiding like a filthy rat for days and months on end? By telling you that I was captured because my own wife snitched on me and gave Seekers my grandparents’ address, where I was caught and got one of those Souls inserted? By telling you that my conscience didn’t disappear, that I was one of the unusual exceptions, and that I had to live a pretense with my fake family, fighting that Soul every minute of everyday for most of four years? By telling you that I lived in Hell, a prison I haven’t escaped yet because now that Souls have left, neither my wife or my two beautiful sons have returned? Is that what you want me to tell you, Martin?” 

“Careful, Harold,” recommends one of the Healers through a microphone--I hadn’t realized the human was wearing a hearing device. “No need to startle him any more than he already is.” 

Martin stays in silence for more than three minutes, staring at the human in front of him, repeating over and over the words he’s just said to him. 

“Who told you to say that?” he asks in the end, ever so slowly. 

“No one did,” sighs Harold, visibly exhausted. “That’s my story, Martin, that’s who I am.” 

“Impossible,” utters Martin. 

“You decide if I’m telling the truth or not.” 

“I _know_ you aren’t!!” 

“Martin, I don’t know what else I can tell you, man--”

And poor Harold doesn’t get the chance to put in another word: at that moment, Martin puts his arm back, over his ear, and throws it forward with amazing speed and strength. The unexpected blow is so fierce that sends Harold some feet backwards,till he hits the window we were hiding behind. A hand up to his chin and another between Martin and himself, Harold whimpers for some seconds, leaning against the window. 

“Get him out of there!” I beg in a shriek, physically unable to move my eyes from the blood on the mirror. 

Before I finished my order, four people had already entered the room: two male humans to restrain Martin on the opposite corner and two Healers who run directly towards Harold to check his injury. We don’t really see much of what’s happening in there, what with the glass cracked and all, but we can assume the Healers will be taking Harold out of there. 

Soon enough we see Harold, holding a napkin up to his nose, being half-dragged into the observation room. He greets us all with a smile, strange as it is, which calms me down a little. And then he sees who else was in the room. 

“Wanda,” he greets in surprise and astonishment. “I didn’t realize--” 

“She was on her way to the examination room when they decided to make a small leisurely stop,” informs one of the Healers, piercing with her eye the nurses and Healers who brought me in here, against better judgement, just because I asked them to. 

“Never mind that, how’re you?” I press before we drag on with a stupid subject. 

“I’m going to be alright, don’t you worry,” promises Harold. “Although I didn’t see it coming. Guess I’ve lost my touch--he’s got quite the powerful left hook.” 

“Please, come with us and we’ll assess the injury,” begs one of the Healers. 

“No need,” says the man, raising his free hand, the one he’s not using to hold the blood coming out of his nose. “I’ve suffered worse than this.” 

“Be as it may--you’ll have another shot at Martin, we can assure you,” insists the Healer. 

“Harold,” I interject before the man tries to shrug medical attention off for the third time. “Do as they say, please. Let them check you up. It’ll be over soon.” 

Even though we just met forty-five seconds ago, we’re already in an argument of some sorts--what kind of world are we truly leaving behind, I wonder?--and hold each other’s eye for a little while, Harold amused, me not willing to put my foot down on this one. 

“Okay, I will,” he accepts after some seconds, “so long as you do the same.” 

Can’t help but chuckle--he’s won this round. I nod, without knowing who won the argument or if it was a draw--anyhow, I realize my family will be just thrilled to see me cooperating, for once, with the Healers and getting the medical attention I clearly need. 

I let them run all the check-ups they want without complaining, which don’t take more than fifteen minutes. Physically, they conclude I’m going to be alright, and I agree; I don’t even feel my injuries anymore. Mentally. . . No one, not even me, can answer that one. 

My room is crowded, certainly there are more people than regulations allow even within visiting hours, although no one has complained about it yet, what with Ian, Jamie, Mel and Jared, who weren’t allowed to keep me company during the examinations, and also Denny, Sunny, Kyle and Jeb, with Nick in his arms. 

As soon as I see them all there, I crumble. I only need to lock eyes with Ian for the man to be right by my bedside, holding my hand tenderly. 

“Wanda--” 

“Can we go home now?” I sob. 

“Yes,” Ian breathes out almost before I’d finished my plea. “Yes, we can, whenever you want to.” 

“She does need to stay here the next twenty-four hours,” the Healer chooses now to interject. 

“Well then, we’ll leave in twenty-four hours,” settles Ian. 

My family starts talking about who’s staying and sleeping arrangements, but I barely listen in to any of it. I’m too busy with Nick finally in my arms, but that’s just another excuse--I’m positively avoiding Denny’s eye, because I don’t want to read his judgement. 

My plea of returning home was selfish, egocentric, greedy and narrow-minded; completely out of place with the enterprise we’ve scarcely began. In other words, it’s everything Denny criticized earlier--was that just a few hours ago?--during hour lunch, each of our Origin teachings stabbing my heart into a million pieces. 

Because my plea was everything a Soul shouldn’t be.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our family heads back to Denver for a well-deserved rest.

Last night I held Nick in my arms until the toddler fell asleep--when he had an assurance that his mother and father wouldn’t disappear again without explanation. I then surrendered Nick to Mel so she’d set him on the other bed of the room, safe amongst pillows, and scooped to one side so Ian could climb on my bed. Only with him laying there by my side, his warmth, aura, smell and strong arms surrounding me at last, could I find some solace and peace to fall asleep too, although it took me some hours--Kyle and Denny were snoring before I ever did. 

However, I had the luxury of waking up later than everyone else. As a matter of fact I wake up in the caravan, lying on the upper bed. My first thought is that they had the door fixed quite fast. 

From my privileged position on top of the bunk, I stare at my family downstairs. Jared’s driving and Mel’s on the passenger’s seat, whereas Ian’s entertaining both Jamie and Nick with the Hi-Ho Cherry-O game, that we barely had the chance of using these past months. Looks like Jamie’s winning--although just now the spin’s pointed at ‘Spill the bucket’, so he has to return all his blueberries back on the tree, while Nick giggles excitedly. 

Carefully, I get off the bed, immediately attracting all of my family member’s attention: Mel stands from her seat and so do Ian and Jamie, forgetting all about the game. We meet in the middle of the caravan, me resting my back against the bunk. 

“Welcome to the land of the living,” chuckles Mel. 

“Did I sleep for too long?” 

“No amount of sleeping would have been ‘too long’ for you, Wanda,” scowls Mel, realizing I’d taken her words wrongly. 

“Here,” says Ian, handing me a bottle of fresh water. I drink a couple of sips, insufficient judging by Ian’s frowned eyebrows, but he doesn’t push me further. “You want to eat something?” 

“I’m fine for now, thank you,” I promise, holding onto the bottle. 

The explanations last for some very brief minutes: Jeb, Denny, Kyle and Sunny left the hospital on their own volition early in the morning, since they’ve got their own missions to fulfill still, promising to get back at us soon. The Healers discharged me on the condition that I’d be well taken care of and that I should report at Denver’s Healing Center--and warned they’d call to make sure I’d assisted the appointment. They’ve already returned the Jeep, since we only needed one vehicle for the six of us to get to Denver. For now, we’ve got five more hours of driving ahead of us. 

I sigh again, staring through the front window glass, where I can see nothing but an empty road ahead of us. Jared’s driving under the speed limit, of course--although I know that’s been happening only since the moment I woke up--but still I feel safe with him behind the wheel, I must say. There’s a sense of security coming from the man I got when I was inside of Mel that simply can’t go away now. 

Home, Denver. Ian’s childhood town, his apartment, the place I hope can grow on me in the end so I feel I belong there as much as Ian and Kyle do. Rightfully, without remorse--Denny’s face pops up in my mind and I shake my head vigorously to shake him off. 

“You OK?” asks Ian immediately, reaching a hand out to stop me or who knows what. “I knew we shouldn’t have taken you out so soon.” 

“I’m fine,” I promise. 

As I stand and start walking, breaking the small gathering by making my way between Ian and Jamie, I reach the table and kiss Nick on the forehead, making him giggle again--the calmest and most upliftings of sounds. 

“Can I play?” I ask. 

“Yes,” Nick allows me right off. “Here, you’re blue. And the apples.” 

“Well, thank you very much,” I appreciate, taking the blue bucket and grabbing the ten miniature apples to hang them from the only remaining tree. “I’m in a bit of a disadvantage, so it’s okay if I just hang nine of the apples, right?” 

“No!” complains Nick in a giggle, knowing, to some degree, I was just teasing him. 

“Hey, I just had to return the six blueberries I’d gotten, so no cheating,” complains Jamie, as he settles on the couch in front of us--sounding really pissed off and crestfallen because of the misfortune, which only makes me chuckle. He’s a grown men, he shouldn’t be acting like Nick with a toddler’s game. Oh, well. We can let him have some fun. 

By then Mel’s returned to her seat up front and Ian’s the last one to join us, since he comes back with a bottle of orange juice, some plastic glasses and a couple of bags of biscuits. Although he opens it all and lays it on the table for all to grab something, I get from his stern look that he expects me to have a good breakfast. With a little smile on my lips--Ian just can’t help worrying and caring about me--I grab one of the biscuits. 

“Mom, you play,” says Nick, handing me the spin. 

“Oh, so at least I get some perks for being late in the game,” I remark, setting the spin right in front of me. 

“Come on!” Nick presses me. 

I spin the wheel and at least my first movement allows me to grab two of my apples, to Jamie’s great dismay. I chuckle as I take them and put them on my little bucket before handing the wheel to Ian, who has the luxury of taking four of his oranges, hence becoming the current leader, with a total of eight pieces of fruit in his bucket--Nick’s got five cherries for now, seven after his turn. 

Playing--and also eating, of course--with my son and my little brother, in the company of a small representation of our family, does wonders for my mental state. Last night I thought I’d have a long recovery ahead of me, but I actually feel thrilled and a bit emotional about going back to a home of sorts, even if I haven’t spent more than a few days total in Denver. 

Last time I was there, I was shot, says a resentful voice in my mind.   
The shiver that runs down my spine is harder to disguise than shaking my head to get rid of the annoying little voice--I take my glass and finish the drink in one sip. I cannot go back there. I cannot let myself be swallowed by the bad memories, or else there won’t be a place in the United States for me to stay. 

Instead I just focus on the game, to find out Jamie’s now very close to winning, since he could take four of his blueberries in one turn. 

Jamie ends up winning in the end and then we play again, with Nick as the winner this time. Then we move on to the Memory Card and play three times on a row--Nick wins the first round, I win the second and Mel, who joins us for the third game, ends up winning the last round. 

By then it’s already lunch time for Nick, so we scoop around and set the table for him with all of his plastic plates, cutlery and glass while Ian reheats his food on the microwave. Because I haven’t had the luxury of doing it for the past couple of days, I stay with Nick to help him eat, and Ian sits in front of us, unable of staying apart, whereas Mel and Jamie go talk with Jared about something I’m not interested in. 

“You want to lie down for a bit?” I ask Nick once he’s done. 

“No, I really don’t, Ma,” complains the toddler, an answer I should have predicted. 

“Well, then, be a good boy and let them eat in peace, okay?” I demand, poking his side, while exchanging one look with Ian--they’ll be alright keeping an eye on Nick, even during lunch. 

“You’re not joining us?” presses Ian. 

“I just ate breakfast,” I remind him, caressing his shoulder as I stand from the table to wash all of Nick’s dirty dishes. While I take care of that they can set the table properly for three adults, respecting my timetable, but I don’t even sit down with them. 

I go meet Jared up front, with whom I haven’t said a word since I woke up, and feels a little bit wrong to cast him off completely while we eat when he’s the one driving. I rest on the back of the passenger’s seat, in order not to distract or scare the driver, and cross my hands, staring at the road in front of us. Might be the end of winter with freezing temperatures but it’s a clear day, Jared’s actually got a pair of sunglasses at hand, no wind or rain, or snow for that matter, to worry about. 

“Everything alright?” asks Jared before I get a chance to ask that question. 

“Think so, yeah,” I nod, taking the shotgun. “You’re not planning on eating?” 

“Later, on the third turn,” chuckles Jared. “I’m alright, don’t you worry.” 

“I could drive, if--” 

“Not a chance in hell,” he interjects before I even finish the sentence. “They’d kill me. You just take it easy and enjoy the ride.” 

“It’s not fair for you to drive all the way to Denver--” 

“Mel’s going to take the second shift,” Jared promises. “And if she gets tired, I’ll take the wheel again, or Ian will. There are more than enough adults to drive, Wanda--as a matter of fact, we’ve got in here more people allowed to drive than people who can’t drive. And Jamie could take over in an emergency.” 

“But there’s not going to be an emergency that forces him to drive,” I scowl. 

Jared just chuckles, as if my words were exactly what he’d expected to hear--and that might be it, because he should have known I would be against Jamie driving with the little experience he’s got. 

“He’ll have a chance to learn properly a little further down the line,” he says. 

“Yeah, well, one of these days those ‘allowed to drive’ around here will need to take the tests and get a proper license,” I scowl under my breath. I really don’t know why I’ve chosen Jared to pick on, but somehow it helps me--Ian’s too distracted and far away to notice my gloomy mood and be concerned about it. 

“One of these days,” nods Jared with a chuckle. “Maybe when we’re settled.” 

I nod too, reckoning he’s right. No sense in making plans for the future until we’ve found all of our families and got a place to stay that’s not temporary. 

We fall into a comfortable silence, as a few feet behind us our family enjoys their lunch in the middle of innocent bickering and teasing and laughter. Being up here seems to have a calming effect on me too: watching the road ahead of us, what used to be the old US-160--I wonder if we’re going to change back the names of the roads too?--passing by very few cars on any direction, apart from trucks transporting varying goods. Both sides of the road I see the noticeable changes and improvements Souls did when arriving here: solar panels, wind turbines, extensive and well-produced farms. The US-160 might be the same as it was, the east-west highway crossing the Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado and Kansas States, might everything else around it has changed for the better. 

Litter later on, while we’re passing by Johnson City, we stop so Jared can exchange places with Mel--who just rolls her eyes when I try to suggest to drive--and after a two-minute stop we resume the drive again. 

I decide to lie down again--how can I be so tired when I’ve slept like a log?--and this time Nick comes with me, for some reason, and we settle on the lower bed, holding to each other. Jamie climbs on top of us and soon enough he’s started talking, babbling really. This time about Antygone, a myth I wish he hadn’t brought up. I mean, I know most of the Greek mythology concerns tragic and dramatic stories, and I realize I taught most of them to the child, but he could have chosen any number of myths I could have dealt with, it’s just today I’m not in the mood for such story.

Soon enough I pretend to fall asleep, hiding behind Nick. I know my dramatics haven’t improved, but someone falls for my act and commands Jamie to shut up. The caravan falls into a dead silence, not even Nick breaks it--seems he’s had a field day, because he’s just as exhausted as I am. Somehow I manage to fall asleep. 

I wake up to Ian’s coaxing, tender words and kisses all over my face. Any other day I would have started to kiss him back and then I’d pull him to the bed and transformed his coaxing to wake up into another kind of begging altogether, but today’s not that day. His words do manage to birng a smile to my lips. 

“We’re home, Sleeping Beauty,” he whispers, he’s so close that his breath tickles my forehead, “you can resume that nap up in our apartment, if you want to.” 

“Sounds great,” I can’t help but chuckle. 

“Then let’s go upstairs and make it a reality,” he coaxes me, taking the blankets off me. 

I cannot truly listen to such sensitive words so I finally open my eyes, to find Ian kneeling in front of me, a funny look on his eyes--and I know he’s still concerned about me. Perhaps I should be making this easier for the man. 

He reaches a hand to pull me up and then I realize that we’re all alone--and that the caravan’s empty, too. All the cupboards and drawers, no clothes laying around the vehicle, no toddler’s toys scattered anywhere. 

“We’ve already taken the bags upstairs,” Ian explains. 

I nod, surprised that the racket of tidying the place shouldn’t have woken me up earlier, but then I follow Ian outside and let myself be dragged into the elevator to reach the third floor, resting my head on Ian’s shoulder. 

To be quite honest, I find myself fidgeting and nervous--almost as much as I was a few weeks back, when we entered Ian’s old apartment for the first time. Back then I was supposed to take care, encourage and at some point support Ian into his childhood home. Now, I’m feeling what I must assume he felt that one time, about to step into an apartment and trying, well, to fit in, to see what feels right and what doesn’t, to decipher if I belong or not. I don’t know why this is striking me now of all times. 

“Should probably tell you that Dad’s here,” says Ian all of a sudden. 

Great. That helps a whole deal, I want to scowl, although I swallow back my words in time. It’s wonderful that Nicholas Senior should have left his shelter and returned home--certainly there’s another story there, specially one that concerns his peers, but I’m not curious enough to ask, not today. 

Whether Ian and his father talked in private before Ian came to fetch me, or Nicholas Senior is better at reading body language and atmospheres than I gave him credit for, the man doesn’t ask a single thing when I cross the doorframe and he doesn’t make any kind of explanations concerning his presence here--he just welcomes me in with a big and warm hug. 

“Hello, dear. Am I glad to see you,” he says before he kisses me on the cheeks. 

“Thank you, Nicholas,” I whisper as I shrug off my coat and he takes it from my hands. “It’s nice to see you again, out in the open. 

“Where are the others?” I ask, looking around--doesn’t look like anyone else is here, grown-up, that is, because Nick’s on the floor playing with one of his jigsaw puzzles. By the progress he’s made so far, I gather we’ve got fifteen minutes for ourselves before the toddler needs any attention at all. 

“They’re staying at the apartment down the hall for the time being,” explains Ian in a deep sigh. “It’s empty at the moment and they’re not bound to go looking for their families any time soon; incidentally, we should all get some rest.” 

I freeze, a bit uncertain of how to express my desires, or my agreement with Ian’s words, in front of the man who’s, plainly, my father-in-law. Ian, by my side, just chuckles and hugs me by the waist, caressing the lower of my back, leaning closer. 

“I know for a fact you could do with some sleeping,” he whispers in my ear, as if trying, or meaning, to invoke some flashes of other activities we could be doing on a bed right now. I try my best not to blush, not in front of Nicholas--or in front of our son. 

“And I fear you might be right,” I confess. “I don’t understand, I’ve slept--” 

“Both your mind and body need to rest after the adventure you’ve taken,” Nicholas explains for me. “Now, why don’t you both take a shower while I prepare you your bedroom?” 

“You don’t mean the master bedroom,” Ian scoffs. 

Nicholas raises his eyebrows at Ian, almost as surprised by the question as Ian was by the suggestion. 

“Of course I mean the master bedroom, where else do you want to sleep in?” 

“Oh, no--that’s your bedroom, not--” 

“You’re the parents now, Ian,” Nicholas interjects, resting a hand on Ian’s shoulder, tender. “Sadly, we cannot expect your mother to return, so I’d say right now you two are the ones who should take the bigger bedroom. Even if it’s just for your child’s comfort.” 

That last argument is one Ian cannot possibly refute, but the look on his eyes clearly says ‘We’ll talk about it later’, as he drops the subject and kisses my forehead. He leans his head to point at the bathroom and I nod once. Nicholas steps back to let us reach the hall. 

“I’ll prepare you something to eat too,” he says to our backs. 

“Oh, that’s not really necessary, we ate on the way here,” I try to dismiss. 

“Be that as it may, a nice cup of tea will be good for you,” replies Nicholas, and without another word he leaves and slams the kitchen’s door. 

I stare at the closed door him almost in disbelief, but I don’t get a chance to go after Nicholas as Ian pulls me gently towards the bathroom and helps me undress, dropping all of my sweaty and rusty clothes to the floor. 

The memories of that one shower we shared on the eve of our mission comes to both our minds, I can tell--it was after all the last time we had for ourselves in a long, long time--but tonight it has no similarities whatsoever: Ian keeps his clothes on, for a start, and helps me climb onto the bathtub and then he just showers me from beginning to end, caressing my temples and hair root tenderly with the shampoo, and then massaging all of my muscles from neck down with the suave sponge and hot water, being very careful with my neck and other sore areas. The way he’s treating me, as if I were a child, is somewhat embarrassing--but he cuts off all of my complaints and just tells me to let go and let him take care of me for once. He also wraps my hair in a towel and helps me out of the bathtub before handing me a second towel. 

“I’ll take a short shower, I’ll meet you in the dorms,” he says after kissing me briefly on the lips. 

I’m in for another surprise in the dormitory when I inspect the drawers and cupboards trying to find something that fits me--and see mountains of clothing that weren’t there the last time we spent a few days in the apartment. Perhaps I should have asked when did Nicholas arrive in Denver exactly. 

Comfy pajamas and slippers on, Ian comes back when I’m still inspecting the drawers--only he would have entered the room without knocking--but my mild complaints vanish as soon as I see him only with a towel on his waist. Guessing I’m not so tired after all. 

He doesn’t even notice, or if he does, he hides it pretty well. Ian just grabs one of the dressing gown hanging from behind the door and wraps me up in it--for two brief seconds I wonder if he did it only to convince himself not to engage any more intimate gesture, but I flatly refuse to believe it. I’m not an abandoned puppy he’s found on the road. 

And then he leans forward to plant a soft kiss on my lips. What with having him inches from me and half naked, I don’t really know what’s on his mind, if it’s sleeping or something else altogether. 

He solves me the riddle by spinning to grab a pajamas from one of the drawers and putting it on with his back facing me and avoiding my eye--I think I know why. 

Before we get a chance to say a word, someone knocks on the door. 

“Are you presentable?” asks Nicholas on the other side. 

“Sure, Dad, what’s up?” says Ian as he opens the door for his father. 

Only then we see he’s carrying a gigantic tray with a bottle of water, a gigantic bowl with various fruit and two dishes with omelettes and toasts. When he sets the tray on the bedside table, I see as well a couple of pieces of chocolate and two mugs filled with, I presume, hot tea. I walk forward a little bit mesmerized by it all, in an attempt to help Nicholas as well as thank him for his over-the-top efforts, but I’m too late as Ian thanks his father with broken emotion on his voice. 

“I’ll just leave this here and let you be,” says Nicholas, already headed for the door. 

“You didn’t--” Nicholas doesn’t even let me finish that sentence, waving it away with his hand, one foot outside of the room. 

“Will send Nick to sleep at a reasonable hour too. Have a good night’s sleep and I’ll see you two in the morning--not too soon, I expect. Goodbye.” 

He closes the door leaving me speechless and flabbergasted because of the sudden and brief visit. Is this what it feels like having a father-in-law? I was never explained any of this when I came to the Earth and I didn’t get a chance to see, or experience it, on my own. 

On the other hand, Ian’s taken the tray to the bed and has already drank a little sip from one of the mugs, complaining that it’s just too damn hot, before taking a bite to one of the toasts. 

“Wanda, come here,” he calls out, reaching a hand. 

I move only because I was commanded to, meeting Ian in the middle of the bed, accepting the toast he offers me. I chew and swallow out of habit, nothing else, still staring at the closed door of our dormitory. 

“Everything alright?” asks Ian between bites. 

Can’t really give him a straight answer so I just shrug nonchalantly. He still seems to understand, as he wipes his lips and scoops closer to me, to lie side by side, against the wall, setting some of the pillows properly. 

“You’ll have to get used at being spoilt,” he chuckles. 

“I’ve never known any of this,” I confess, pointing to the living room, where I presume Nicholas is looking after his godson. Yes, Jeb’s like a father figure to me, however he never got to these extremes like Nicholas Senior--he’s always been more like a reliable uncle for me. “I never had a mother or a father. Sure, Souls look after each other and Healers are just one phone call away if you need them. . . But nurturing is new to me as well.” 

Ian chuckles again, bumping my arm gently, so I don’t spill any of the tea. 

“Hey, I’m going to need some adjusting too,” he promises. “It’s been years since I’ve lived with my father and so many more years since he was actually happy to spoil me even a bit. It’s not going to last, so don’t really worry about it and just enjoy it for the time being.” 

“I hope it doesn’t last long,” I can’t help but chuckle. This service, this straight-forward helping and nurturing is too strange that I don’t feel comfortable with it. 

Ian just keeps on eating as if it weren’t a big deal. 

“Once things settle he’ll grow tired of it all, I can promise you that. Remember, we’ve got another baby to spoil and take care of.” 

I still don’t feel assured and I show it by dropping the toast on the dish, staring at the amazing tray Nicholas has prepared for us just because we’ve come from a long mission and might be tired and. . . Heck, we don’t even know how long it took Nicholas to get here, he might need to be taken care of too. He’s the oldest amongst the people living under this roof. 

Before I say a word, Ian hands me back the tea mug, prompting me to drink it before it gets cold. 

“This is just another human experience you’re getting to live. I don’t think it’s wrong.” 

“Well, instead of wasting your energy like that. . . You could just stop treating me like a wounded animal.” 

The comparison makes Ian chuckle as he raises both his eyebrows at me. “We are not--” 

“Please,” I roll my eyes at him. “What was that in the bathroom, then?” 

“You seemed to enjoy it,” he points out. 

“And I did,” I confess, no reason in denying a simple truth. “However, if you’re doing it because you think I’m in shock after what happened, and you still see me like a vulnerable, fragile, child--” 

“Wanda, anyone would be in shock after almost getting killed,” scowls Ian, “the problem is that you’re not. And I don’t consider you vulnerable or fragile, you’re incredibly strong--I learnt that back in the caves and you’ve been proving so every day afterwards. Had your heart worn thin you wouldn’t have survived half of the things you’ve been put through lately, Wanda. In other words, we’re not ‘wasting our energy’ while taking care of you, we’re just showing a little bit of compassion.” 

“That’s your definition of compassion?” I demand, pointing for the bathroom, at the other end of the hall. 

Ian, more amused than anything, tilts his head. 

“Kind of. And this is another,” he adds, reaching for the tray and moving it closer to me. “And then it’ll be a full night’s sleep in what I hope will be our definitive home. And in the morning it’ll be offering you a good breakfast, plus a relaxing day doing nothing. That is all, Wanda.” 

Soon enough I realize Ian really meant what he said about the ‘taking it easy’ policy--and it’s almost exhausting, because our whole family takes a part on it, and they all gang up against me. When we wake up in the morning there’s an impressive nutritional breakfast waiting for us in the kitchen and a bit later Jamie knocks on the door because Jared and Mel insisted on taking me to the Healing Center. 

After a thirty-minute walk and so many promises that I’m alright, we resume our walk, wandering really, around the city, with no direct destination or clear goal. A couple hours later, right when the cold was threatening to take our fingers away, we stop at a small café near the Daniels and Fisher Tower, where according to Nicholas they used to make this amazing Mocha coffee with milk and chocolate syrup. It’s the more beautiful with the classical music playing, to be precise, Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata when we got there, but then it changes to a repertoire by Bach and Nicholas lets me know the moment they change the composer to Chopin. 

We fall into a comfortable, domestic routine, what with living with Nicholas and our son, and having Mel, Jared and Jamie down the hall. It’s strange to be free, to have time for ourselves, to keep the cold away inside of cafés and our place, to finally get the chance to rest for real now that Mel and Ian have made up, when just a few days ago we were too caught up in our mission. For some reason we don’t exactly feel as if we’d wrapped up the mission properly, although in the opinion of every citizen who comes by to have a few words with us, we were a humongous success.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our family enjoys their quiet life at Denver, although not entirely anonymous, for people recognize Wanda and her family everywhere they go. Also, I just HAD to include a real first Owanda date, what with Nick taken care of for a night.

Long walks and warm cups of coffee fill the vast majority of our days, plus going shopping now and then and having lunch or dinner outside, all together as a family. I do believe we really couldn’t live in peace if we stayed indoors all day long--almost as if we were still on our mission, we take the longest strolls all around the capital, once we can put Ian off about avoiding not just the Botanical Gardens but all sorts of parks around the city. It’s our way of getting to know the capital, with Nicholas Senior as our tour guide, even though this isn’t really Jared’s or Mel’s or Jamie’s hometown--but it is Ian’s, and perhaps it can be our place of living, and the place where Nick grows too.  
   
We also take our time visiting, at least once a week, the urban gardens closest to our apartment. It was one of our major changes when we Souls reached the Earth--implement urban gardens throughout the major cities of the country, one every few blocks. Its significance stems from the necessity of all members of the community to learn in farming activities that provides the food we consume and need to live, while we understand first-hand the efforts farmers make every day of their lives. And not only to understand their efforts--it’s also positive for Nick, who learns the names of the vegetables, the tools and the farming chores from scratch. It is a nice exercise for all of us, because after the mission we really couldn’t spend all the day away, arms crossed. Visiting and working on the gardens also brings back fond memories of the caves, although here in Denver it’s better in every way: we don’t have Jeb coaxing, coercing and threatening us into working. 

I realize I perhaps could let this be the rest of my life here on Earth--if I had a choice in the matter whatsoever. But I am a Soul alright and the comment that Nicholas Senior made on our first day back, while showing us around, stayed with me. As far as he can tell, the city is pretty much empty--a lot of the civilians have left in order to join the missions and find the remaining humans in hiding. Feels strange, wrong even, to be enjoying life and getting long nights’ sleep when most of the country, most of the world, is still fulfilling their mission.  
   
There’s this one café we particularly enjoy, located a couple miles from the apartment--a bit far, but it’s totally worth it, because this cafeteria was built for children, what with an indoor playground compounded with sledges, a gigantic ball pool, small trampolines and what else. Every time we’ve come here Nick, along with Jamie alright, have had a field day, although, in all honesty, we the adults just couldn’t stop ourselves and ended up joining the both of them before too long.  
   
The place is usually so crowded and full of children roaring with laughter and having the time of their lives that we could barely call it ‘peaceful’ or ‘quiet’, but we really couldn’t care. We could deal with anything but the eerie silence of the mountains at winter, right now. Each and every one of us has a broad smile on our lips as we drink our coffees and juices and eat the snacks we’ve ordered. Even if Ian and I feel slightly anxious because we couldn’t pinpoint Nick amongst the humongous crowd of children running wild at the back of the shop. But it is nice to finally see him, from time to time, actually interacting with boys and girls his same age and see he’s doing alright.  
   
“Say,” Ian starts, leaning closer to me, resting his leg closer to my thigh, “how do you feel about going out tonight?”  
   
I avert my eyes from the back of the store for a minute. I suffer from motherly anxiety as much as the next mom, although I know deep in my heart that no harm could come to my child inside this store. Any other Soul in any other Planet, however, would be able to say that no harm should come to their child, period. 

“As in going to the cinemas?” I ask, surprised.  
   
The answer’s plain clear in the scoff that escapes Ian’s mouth.  
   
“Not a chance. I don’t think I can live through another Soul movie ever again,” he scowls, dramatically rolling his eyes. “I’ll know that things have returned to normal when I don’t puke after watching the first five minutes of a film.”  
   
“He’s got a point,” says Jared before I try to reply, because I was about to. “The plots usually suck and they always have a happy ending. You have to admit, we _were_ better at making movies than you ever will be.”  
   
“Well, sure, if you add to the mix violence, assault and abuse, violence, kidnappings, killings, ten kinds of abuse and discrimination, racism and racist slur and so on, of course you can make a blockbuster,” I scowl. “But can you make an educational movie that’ll be beneficial to children with such standards?”  
   
“Not everything needs to be educational,” Mel points out. 

I raise my eyebrow at her, crossing my arms over the table.  
   
“If we don’t start teaching our children from an early age they’ll never understand what progress is and the new generations will never surpass their ancestors,” I reply back. This is what Soul’s legacy for humans is supposed to be, that Mel and my family members shouldn’t understand almost makes me lose my mind.  
   
“Don’t get upset now,” begs Mel, holding my hand, “but what’s the fun in that?”  
   
Knowing she’s just teasing me, I roll my eyes at her. “One plus on the ‘Souls’ column, then.”  
   
Jared, Ian and Mel all chuckle at the same time. I have been spending some quality time with my human family members, even if I can’t always tell by the way that I act.  
   
“Fair enough,” nods Mel.  
   
“Now that we’ve established we’re not going to the cinemas anytime soon,” resumes Ian, grabbing my hand to get a moment of my short-lapse attention again, “may I specify that I meant going out to dinner just the two of us?”  
   
That idea does get my attention and somehow I forget all about Nick and stare right into Ian’s blue eyes. I can tell by the look on his face that he isn’t lying, not even joking.  
   
“Well, thank you for inviting us,” scowls Mel at the other side of the table--but she was just teasing Ian, it wasn’t like those remarks she continually made out in the woods. After all, she and Jared have enjoyed a couple of nights out already, with a clean conscience what with Jamie a responsible teenager and no toddler to take care of. I don’t feel the little bit of remorse for Ian’s suggestion. A smile comes up to my lips and before I can utter a word Ian can tell my answer in my eyes.   
   
I raise my hand to cup his cheek and lean to kiss him on the lips--a very brief kiss, just scraping our lips, since he pulls away all too soon, like every time that I’ve kissed him lately. I back off slowly, holding to my chair, doing my best to stop myself from jumping into Ian’s lap. Only the thought of our dinner tonight helps.  
   
And it’d seem as if us going out remains on everyone’s minds too, since later that afternoon I’m surprised to see that everyone is kind of. . . Rooting for Ian and I. We couldn’t have postponed or cancelled the dinner, not even if an environmental catastrophe had taken place. As a matter of fact, I find myself, for some reason, in the master bedroom with Mel, helping me choose the appropriate shoes, make-up, earrings and coat, decisions I really thought I could make by myself.  
   
“Don’t you think this is a little bit over the top?” I demand as Mel helps me into a night dress.  
   
She rolls her eyes at me.  
   
“No, it is not,” she promises. “Just enjoy a night out, Wanda. You deserve it. Having fun shouldn’t be a capital offense--Souls or not.”  
   
I can’t help but chuckle--she’s still bitter because of the little confrontation we had during lunch--as I turn to face the mirror and have a proper look at myself. I tilt my head. This is the first time in all of my lives that I never had the chance, or the reason, to dress formally for any kind of social event. It may be wrong to say so, even to think it, but I don’t look too shabby. It’s a simple knees-long, sleeveless, open back, blue dress, with a belt on the waist to highlight this body’s figure and curves. The reason why this was the dress chosen, however, was because the color perfectly matches Ian’s eyes--did they think I wouldn’t notice right away? 

“Well?” demands Mel, behind me--I realize I’ve been quiet for almost two minutes. 

Taking a very deep breath of air, a bit uncertain still, a answer to her reflection on the mirror. “I think I’ll survive wearing this for a night.”

Mel chuckles as she turns around to grab the make-up, coaxing me to sit down. I obey and do not complain; I already know it’s going to be a lost battle with Mel.  
   
“Are we really going to a fancy place?” I ask.  
   
“Hey, _I’m_ not going anywhere,” Mel points out, not at all angry about that fact. “And Ian didn’t tell me where you’re going exactly--thought I’d spoil the surprise.”  
   
There’s a couple of soft knocks on the door, but whoever it is doesn’t dare to come in after Mel’s yell. Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes as she goes to answer the door. It’s not as if I were naked and everyone will see me soon enough, my dress it’s not really a State secret.  
   
“How’s it going?” asks Jared, amusement in his voice. “Ian’s been waiting for ten minutes.”  
   
“Are we in any rush?” replies Mel before I open my mouth.  
   
Even though he’s behind that door and I can’t see him, I can tell Jared’s just shrugged at Mel.  
   
“And here I thought being fashionably late was just a human’s thing,” he says raising his voice, clearly addressing me, once again confronting the behavior patterns between our species. His remark only makes me chuckle.  
   
“Don’t worry; tell Ian I’ll be right out.”  
   
“Yes, ma’am,” nods Jared before shutting the door.  
   
Now that we’re all alone, Mel and I exchange one long look in the silence--she just can’t help the smug expression on her eyes, whereas I’m somewhat nervous. That may be why Mel bursts out laughing.

“Come on,” she presses, handing me the high heels.  
   
She lets me rest on her shoulder for support and balance as I put on the pair of shoes that are way too high for me--I’m in the body of a small, petite woman who’s shorter than Jamie, this height difference is quite the occurrence for me. Once again Mel chuckles at my expense before handing me the coat and purse. After one last look in the mirror--the make-up, high heels and coat do look over the top for a night out with Ian--Mel coaxes me out, where Jamie, Jared and, foremost, Ian are waiting for me standing around the living room. Nicholas has been AWOL the whole day and I haven’t raised an eyebrow.  
   
As I see Ian, who was leaning against the wall, I almost end up out of breath. Ian’s wearing a dazzling suit that makes me believe my dress doesn’t quite match the standards for his navy three-piece suit and tie. A small part of my mind acknowledges this is the first time I’ve seen him wearing a formal suit and that it wishes it had happened sooner; for a couple seconds my legs weaken and I’m close to decide to stay in for the night--although I have other plans for tonight as well. Plus, his sky blue shirt matches the color of my dress, and above all, the tie and the navy waistcoat and jacket match Ian’s eyes to a point of disbelief. 

The matching colors between our night suits baffle Ian too. I wouldn’t even be mad if this was planned by Mel or Nicholas beforehand.  
   
Ian comes closer and offers his arm, which I take, smiling almost as broadly and stupidly as he is right now. He takes his coat on his free arm and we head for the doors, our family members almost forgotten.  
   
“Have fun storming the castle!” says Jamie before we cross by the door without saying goodbye.  
   
I barely register his words or understand the reference. I can all but turn my head, bid farewell quickly and briefly and then I’m already out in the hall waiting for the elevator. The dressing up, the not knowing where in the world we are going to eat, my plans for later tonight—it all helps creating a special atmosphere we haven’t had the luxury of experiencing, not with everything else going on. These days are the first peaceful days we’ve ever had together. At least since we went back to civilization--there were some funny and nice weeks in the caves, when all seemed fine, before we got in our minds changing the world.  
   
The restaurant Ian chose is located only twenty minutes away--I start laughing uncontrollably when he says this, out of panic and horror. But in the end I don’t mind the walk; it gives me an excuse to hold onto Ian’s arm and not allow him to let me go, which makes him laugh every time he tries to disentangle from me, which makes me laugh in turn. By the time we get to Giovanni’s, I couldn’t care less if he’d settled for a fast-food restaurant, not so long I can stay with Ian.  
   
However, the place turns out to be a fancy restaurant, a not so far-stretched assumption given what Mel had forced me into and what Ian’s wearing. I don’t really pay much attention to the food or the wine Ian orders, the white mantelpiece and the flowers and the candles decorating our table, I barely register that the tasting menu consists of pan fried scallops, beef carpaccio, beef fillet with glazed salsify and what else, and that the red wine reminds me, somehow, of a special kind of fruit we used to eat as Spiders--and I still spend the night laughing and thanking Ian for the idea of taking me out.  
   
“Wanderer?” asks a woman suddenly by my right. “It is you, isn’t it?”  
   
I grudgingly take my eyes off of Ian, even though I’d vowed I wouldn’t commit such a crime tonight. Of course, we couldn’t return to society, our missions fulfilled, expecting an anonymous life, I sigh deeply, as I muster a smile to my lips and turn around--life out in the woods has its advantages after all. I turn to find a woman a bit younger than Pet was, holding a toddler in her arms--and from that moment on, I don’t need to pretend. I missed too much time with Nick as it was with my classes at College. When Cecile offers, I can’t find the words not to hold her little child, Matthew, for a little while.  
   
“I’m so happy I could meet you,” confesses Cecile after a while, real emotion in her voice.  
   
“Nice to meet you too,” corresponds Ian, nodding his head politely. He’s staring at me more than he’s staring at Cecile, afraid that I might steal away the baby.  
   
“It’s just--the world might just be like it was before thanks to you,” Cecile keeps going. She’s playing nervously with the tissue in her hands, maybe due to anxiety or because she’s really trying to keep it together and not start crying there in front of us.  
   
“Then we need to keep working to achieve that, don’t we?” I ask, but my voice isn’t as condescending as it could be, because I was just talking to Matthew.  
   
“Yes, certainly. We’ve all been given a second chance we’d do better not to waste now, after all we’ve been through,” nods Cecile. She must notice the subject isn’t an easy one for Ian or me, or maybe it’s difficult enough for her, so she opts for changing the subject. “May I ask how’s your child doing? Nicholas, was it?”  
   
“Nick,” Ian corrects her politely. “He’s doing great, really, thank you.”  
   
“We might try to find a school for him here in Denver,” I say.  
   
For some reason, my idea makes Cecile chuckle. “Nick, of all kids in the world, might be just the one kid who doesn’t need a school, does she?” she replies. “Not with parents like you.”  
   
“We do not pretend to know everything,” I try to hide the scowl.  
   
“There’s physics, there’s medicine, there’s history--” Ian lists, counting with each of his fingers, and I know he’s fighting rolling his eyes at Cecile too.  
   
“Right. Sorry,” nods the woman, chuckling nervously. “Well, I think we bothered you enough. I’ll let you be now. Thank you so much for everything and goodbye!”  
   
She reaches for Matthew and although it hurts me, I surrender the toddler back into his mother’s arms, which he was clearly yearning for from the moment Cecile gave him to me. With a sting of pain, we bid farewell to the woman and her husband as they leave the restaurant--and then get back to our previous conversation right away.  
   
A small part of my mind tells me we shouldn’t be so used at being recognized in public, being stopped, having a word or two with strangers now and then--fame and notoriety are probably two opposites of what a Soul should be. Then again, there’s no definition for the ‘average’ Soul anymore.  
   
“You were saying?” I ask.

“I lied to my parents all the time,” says Ian, taking me a little bit by surprise with such an honest and open answer--but I did ask him just that. “Pretending to be sick for an exam and miraculously recovering later that same day if I had a party or a football game, lying about staying at a friend’s house to study when I was going out--”  
   
“None of which will you tell our son, I hope,” I interject before the list gets too long and he gives me not only a headache but also a very bad prospect concerning what Nick might have in store for us.  
   
Ian smiles condescendingly at me.  
   
“I will not teach my son mischiefs or deceits of any kind,” he vows, raising his right hand, “but I cannot promise he will not learn it all on his own.”  
   
“Sadly, I count on that,” I nod, taking a sip of wine, “but I’d be sadder if he didn’t, being honest.”  
   
Such a response gets Ian chuckling as he raises his glass of wine. I raise mine again, tilting my head--I did realize Ian wanted to make a toast of sorts, but I honestly can’t tell what he’s going to come up with.  
   
“We’re great parents, aren’t we?” he winks from the other end of the table, prompting chuckles from the both of us.  
   
“I don’t think we should be the ones to judge that,” I point out.  
   
“But I say we are,” replies Ian, taking a sip of his wine, “our child’s healthy, happy, he can walk and talk properly, he’s already learning to read and write, he’s got a great support system, he’s learning a whole deal about the world he will once inherit. I’d say we’re doing quite well, for now. Don’t you?”  
   
There’s no way around it, I do agree with Ian--he’s right on most of his arguments.  
   
“Still feel as if he should be getting a proper education, though,” I can’t help but whisper. I learnt about humans’ teaching methods. By Nick’s age, children used to be schooled already--and sometimes much earlier. Although it also depended on the parents’ income as well as their availability to take care of the child, which wasn’t as easy a task as it is nowadays.  
   
“Don’t you worry about it,” replies Ian, leaning forward. “He’s not complaining, is he?”  
   
“Still--”  
   
“Please,” begs Ian, “it’s our first night out in months, our first time without Nick in so many days. Can we just have one night without Nick being the main subject of our conversation?”  
   
I nod and drink another sip of wine. It is true that Nick has popped up every now and then throughout dinner, doesn’t matter what subject it was: when Ian was telling me the story about this high-standard restaurant his parents used to come to, concerning the staff members still looking for the former owner and cook; or when we were arguing about whether we’d stay here in Denver, or choose a city closer to Arizona and what was our first home we shared together; or when we were talking about Ian’s childhood spent here in Denver, his grades, his life with his parents and Kyle before the Apocalypse.  
   
Changing the subject does sound like a great idea--and I can’t help but have a little fun with Ian for a change. I lean forwards, resting my hand over the table, right by Ian’s hand, barely scraping his fingers. Something in my eyes gives Ian a hint about my intentions, because he freezes and eyes my hand wearily, as if I could ever hurt him.  
   
“How did your parents meet?” I ask. The question certainly wasn’t what Ian feared, I can almost hear his sigh of relief, but it was all too soon to let Ian know about my real plans for tonight.  
   
“Can you believe I never asked Dad that question until after we’d lost Mom and the three of us were in hiding, running for our lives?” Ian confesses, dropping his eyes. I reach out for his hand and squeeze him tight--he understands this time it’s a gesture meant to encourage and reassure him, nothing else.

“You were too young to wonder about your parents before we came,” I say in a whisper, uncertain if my words will do good or harm.  
   
“That’s no excuse,” scowls Ian.  
   
“I think it is, but okay, let’s not fight tonight,” I say, feeling comfortable enough with Ian to openly express my disagreement with him. We’re having quite the pleasant evening and I don’t want to ruin it all by saying the wrong thing.  
   
The evening keeps its previous standards the rest of the night, as we eat delicious desserts and, after exchanging a few words with some of the customers and waitresses and meeting the cook, who was just as excited as we were, we leave the restaurant and settle for another stroll arm in arm. This time, however, I lead the way. Without making it too obvious--and with the help of the wine--I manage to drag Ian down the 3rdstreet, to the crossroad with Annie’s, to be precise.  
   
Coming to a halt in front of the number 55, the Grand Hotel Central, Ian laughs for a few seconds before he realizes we’ve stopped in the middle of the crosswalk. It’s quite easy to convince Ian to step into the building for a brief time because I’m feeling a little bit dizzy and tired, but he starts smelling something when I approach the concierge and ask him the key for the room I had previously booked. When the man turns around to fetch the key Ian pierces me with his glare and says one simple word.

“No.”  
   
I’d feared that’s what he’d say and, for once, have come prepared.  
   
“Ian, doesn’t the taking care of me plan take into account my needs and craves as well?” I implore. 

He rolls his eyes at me, stuffing his hands deep into his trouser’s pockets. 

“The Healers said you needed to take it easy--” 

“But that I could lead a perfectly normal life,” I interject. “I was there too, you know.” 

“Wanda, I’ve been keeping you at arm’s length--” 

“Then stop already,” I scowl. 

I save the distance separating us in one single step and hug him by the waist, under the coat, so I can touch him more personally, trying to surround his whole figure with my arms--an impossible attempt, since he’s always been quite fit and I’m too short. But I manage the effect I was looking for: Ian has to close his eyes and breathe very deeply for some seconds, as I rest my head on his chest and stare him through my eyelashes. 

Someone clears their throat behind of us--haven’t heard the consierge returning with our set of keys. I let go of Ian only to grab the key, breaking eye contact with him the indispensable amount of time to thank the man for his help and his working at this late hour. 

“Let’s not argue tonight,” I whisper, the same words I said earlier, which somehow work. 

How do I manage to convince Ian into taking the argument into a more private place, like our room, I’ve still no idea--never thought I’d get that far, alcohol or not. Maybe he’d just been putting up a façade. 

A façade that crumbles like a glass of wine in the midst of an earthquake as soon as I close the door and we stand face to face in the middle of the room. At that moment the needs and desperation strike: Ian breathes out as if giving it all up, cups my face and kisses me right on the lips, anxious, desperate--the way he hasn’t kissed me in a long, long time. I respond and hold onto his hair, as he takes off my coat and his hands travel down the naked skin of my back--I’m starting to think Mel chose this particular dress not because of the color, but because of the simplicity of the clothing, in case _this_ happened. 

But only a very small part of my mind thanks Mel for her mischievous planning--I’m too busy trying to get Ian out of his suit, which turns out to be isn’t as practical as the clothing I’m wearing. All of those buttons, the cufflinks, are just exasperating and we both come to the same solution: Ian doesn’t even take off his shirt, which hangs from his arms. It’s just, our craves grow exponentially as we remove our pieces of clothes and we find more bare skin of each other to come in contact with, to caress, to scratch, to bite jokingly, to taste. 

It’s no wonder that we don’t make it to the bed for the first round--Ian just pins me against the wall and takes both my legs around his body to support part of my weight, and to have better access with two fingers inside of me. No one complains--neither of us has the time, really, since we’re almost fighting for air throughout our first climax. 

Only afterwards, when the both of us have come down and our breathings even out, do we think about perhaps moving onto the bed. Since the sense of urgency and desperation is better to contain now, we take our clothes off properly--it’s almost a miracle Ian didn’t rip the dress off of me and settled for letting it drop to the ground on our feet--and after drinking one of the bottles of water from the minibar, we take our time engaging a foreplay until we’re ready and willing to start the second. 

Yes, I breathe out just before I fall asleep, right after I reach an impossible third climax, uncertain if I’m speaking out loud or just thinking the words, I think I could get used to a life like this. 

We wake up late in the morning, I can tell. The sun’s high in the sky behind the clouds and the rattle of a busy day raises from the street--cars honking, an building site, a baby crying, birds chirp outside of the windows. Furthermore, there’s this delicious smell coming from somewhere in the room--probably the one thing that has woken me up, and the main reason why I wake up with a big grin on my lips. 

Tired and lazy, I stretch on the bed, eyes still closed. I hear a man’s chuckle, not as close as I’d expect to find Ian after last night. Since I can’t find him with my hands anywhere in the bed, I finally open my eyes. 

Ian’s standing by the windows, on the small spot between the two curtains drawn, protecting with his figure my eyes from the direct light of the sun. Always taking care of me with such details--I can already tell he’s ordered breakfast. But the main thing that catches my attention is that he’s wearing the same suit as yesterday, his sky blue shirt unbuttoned until mid-chest, no cufflinks yet, and the waistcoat also unbuttoned. 

Oh man, I grunt internally as I eye Ian from head to toes, wanting to rip off his clothes for good this time. I try to breathe in and out evenly, or I’ll be asking for a fourth round soon enough. The fact that I’m star naked on the bed and didn’t bother to cover up with anything isn’t helping, not me and certainly not Ian. 

He’s gone momentarily to fetch one of the robes from the bathroom and climbs on top of the bed, crawling till he’s close to me and leaning to give me a good morning kiss--but not just a quick peck as he used to do until now, this is a full kiss on the lips, and all too soon I open my mouth to let his tongue in. I can’t stop myself and roll over to be on top, catching Ian by surprise, the robe and his clothes being only a nuisance now. 

As I try to draw away some of those clothes, Ian breaks the kiss. 

“Breakfast,” is the only word he manages to utter. 

“Excuse me?” I demand, getting on my knees to stare at him dead in the eye. 

“Breakfast,” he repeats, “and then we can do anything you want to do.” 

I scowl, dropping my head, letting my hair fall down all over Ian’s face, my breasts scraping Ian’s chest covered by the satin shirt. He cannot ask me to stop, not now. 

But he is, unbelievable as it sounds. 

“You’re a spoil-sport,” I scowl, grabbing the robe he’s handing me. I get off of him, crawl to the other side of bed and tie the robe around my waist, back facing Ian. I’m not really that upset--I am quite hungry after all--but anyhow Ian deserves the cold treatment. 

Doesn’t seem to be so concerned about it, however--he just chuckles as he stands from the bed too and walks away. I follow him by the corner of my eye, until I see him headed towards the table in the room: there are some trays prepared with a breakfast that should feed four people instead of just two. Ian grabs a glass with what appears to be apple juice and eats a couple of grapes before sitting down on one chair. He then tilts his head at me--the invite is tempting. 

Without saying a word I stand too and sit across the table from Ian, eyeing the breakfast in front of me. I grab an apple and start peeling it, carefully, meticulously, deep down wondering who’s prepared Nick’s breakfast today. When I’m finished cutting the apple into small pieces I reach out for a toast--Ian doesn’t waste the opportunity to steal one of the pieces of apple from my plate and I can't find it in me to tell him off because of his cheekiness--and start spreading butter, then marmalade, over the toast. In front of me, Ian’s having a full breakfast too in the middle of silence. 

“So,” I say after a few minutes, “any plans for today?” 

Ian shrugs and wipes his lips off on the napkin before speaking. 

“Whatever you want,” he promises. “I’ve spoken to--” 

“Has your father returned already?” I interject him raising an eyebrow. 

Ian avoids my eye by looking through the windows. 

“No, he hasn’t,” he says. “I’ve spoken to Melanie to reassure her that we’re alive and that we’d see them later today, but didn’t say when exactly, so we have a whole day for ourselves ahead of us.” 

I raise my eyebrows at him, not exactly due to all the possibilities lying in front of us for today, but only for the fact that Ian spoke to Mel already--I didn’t hear him using the phone. I didn’t hear him talking to Nicholas or to the room service and didn’t hear a thing when they brought our breakfast into the room, actually. Perhaps I do have a problem with my sleeping patterns. 

“Can I suggest something without you getting angry?” I ask then. 

My words cause Ian to take a very deep sigh, preparing himself for my next wonderful idea and trying to find the right words that won’t upset me on a day that’s supposed to be all about us. He creases the napkin into a ball inside of his hand and takes about thirty seconds to chew and swallow the small bite he took off the toast. 

“By the sounds of it, I’m going to get angry either way,” he whispers, avoiding my eye.  
   
“Can I ask you to at least keep an open mind?” I beg in return.  
   
“Sure, fire away,” Ian allows, gesturing with his hand.

“Why don’t we go to the Botanical Gardens?” Ian’s dropped his head and he’s shaking his head from side to side at such a crazy idea, but I keep on nevertheless. “We haven’t just avoided the Gardens but we’ve avoided the surrounding area the whole time we’ve been here. And I’m not going to have a nervous breakdown by going back there, I can promise you.” 

Ian just raises one hand to make me stop talking. 

“Please tell me you’re joking,” he begs. 

I cross my arms and lean on my chair, not breaking eye contact. “How many times have you heard me cracking a joke lately?” 

He tilts his head at that, his lips pressed together, squirting his eyes at me, pondering for some seconds how to approach this new puzzle I’ve thrown at him. I hold my ground--if he thought I’d back down, he doesn’t know me at all. 

“Finish your breakfast,” he commands, sweeter and more caring than I’d though he’d sound. “Then shower, get dressed and afterwards we can go wherever you want to.” 

I thank him with a broad smile and resume eating at once--can’t have been easy for him such a concession, I just know, so the least I can do is abide by some very natural and simple requests. The good thing between us is that we usually can compromise. Or maybe Ian’s just a too good person for me. 

Thirty minutes later we’re all ready to leave--wearing the same suits as last night in broad daylight does feel kind of stupid, but we’ve got nothing to change into. Perhaps we could stop by home, but that’ll only give Ian a chance to talk me out of visiting the Botanic Gardens, so I dismiss the idea before suggesting it. We’ll just have to accept to feel like clowns for a morning and to wear too uncomfortable shows to walk anywhere. 

Down the hall I’m surprised to see the hotel isn’t as busy and crowded as I’d expected, what with being a nice and comfortable place located right at the center city. Guessing what Nicholas Sr. said like a week or so ago, before he left Denver, is true: there are hundreds of civilians out in the missions. Which is better for us--fewer people to recognize us and to talk to. 

There are, however, a father and a son in the cafeteria, playing a small guitar--ukulele, Ian provides for me--the father teaching his son, can’t be more than four, how to properly place his fingers to play a certain note, the toddler sticking his tongue out as he looks down on the guitar and tries again. I’m so mesmerized that before I know it I’m headed over the cafeteria, Ian following me out of habit. 

We stop some feet away from the table where the father and son are, right when they start to play at the same time, the son carefully watching his father’s movements, the father adapting the rythm to his son’s abilities. Of course, I’m no music expert--the singing voices I had as a Flower, and the choruses we spent days on end singing, have no correlation with this--but they sound quite nicely, I can figure out they’re playing ‘Let it be’ by the Beatles, even before the father starts singing, just a whisper so he doesn’t disturb his son’s concentration. I get goosebumps all over my arms and back and I have to hold onto Ian; he squeezes my hand tightly and I just know he’s feeling the same I am. 

At some point throughout the song the man raises his head and sees us there. The words fail him and since he stops singing, the boy stops playing too and he turns around. Us being there doesn’t cause the same reaction from the toddler, thank the stars. 

“Wanderer,” the man greets me. 

“Sorry, we didn’t mean to interrupt,” I apologize, bowing my head, “we’ll be on our way.” 

“No, please, sit down,” insists the man, standing from his couch. “Have a drink with us.” 

“Thank you, but that’s not--” Ian tries to reply, but the man will have nothing of that, because he raises his hand to attract a waitress’ attention, who comes to a halt by the table. 

“Two more orange juices, please,” he says and then he turns around for our order. 

“I’ll have the same,” I give in. 

“Four it is, please,” nods Ian. 

“Right away,” says the waitress before she disappears. 

“Please,” begs the man, waving for us to sit down. I reach for the remaining empty chair, across the table from the toddler, and Ian grabs another one from the adjacent table. “This here is Joe and I’m Dave.” 

“Very nice to meet you,” says Ian, shaking hands with Dave, as I address the toddler. 

“That song that you were playing was very beautiful. And I think I’ve heard it somewhere, could that be?” 

Little Joe nods his head, but says nothing--exchanges one look with his father, who chuckles. 

“It’s alright, Joe, you can talk to them, they’re friends,” he says. “This man’s Ian O’Shea and she’s Wanderer. Or Wanda, which one do you prefer?” 

“Wanda’s fine,” I promise. “So, what was that song you were playing?” 

“ _Let it be_ ,” answers Joe right away, now that he’s got permission from his father. 

“That’s right! From The Beatles, isn’t it?”

“Yep,” nods Joe, a little bit condescending, as if he thought that every living person on the Planet should know about The Beatles. 

“Would you play it again for us? I’d love to hear it,” begs Ian. 

Joe turns to look at his father again, weary about Ian and I--a normal reaction, really. 

Dave nods again and grabs his ukulele for his son to do the same. They go over some of the chords and after some seconds, at Dave’s signal, they start playing again--Joe sticking his tongue out again, as if he could only play like that. 

Once again I get goosebumps all over and Ian has to hold my hand, which gets much worse once Dave starts singing after some chords: _“When you find yourself in times of trouble / Mother Mary comes to me”_ , very low, just above a whisper. I’m surprised no one has stopped by earlier as well as we did in order to listen and to see the father and son playing--Ian and I find it impossible not to join in the singing too, just moving our lips according to the rhythm with no words coming out--wouldn’t want to disturb Joe’s and Dave’s concentration. 

This time they get through the whole song, the final chords played by looking into each other’s eyes, and whereas Dave runs a hand through his son’s hair to congratulate him for a job well done, Ian and I burst into applause. 

“That was amazing,” Ian praises. 

“It truly was,” I add. “Thank you for playing it for us.” 

Joe rests his hands on the ukulele and stares at us both silently for some seconds. 

“Could you do something for me in return?” he asks. 

“What is it you want to know?” accepts Ian, leaning forward as well, before I could stop him--I’ve seen Dave stiffen due to his son’s words, but he doesn’t interject Joe or Ian. 

“Do you know where my mother is? Could you take us to her?” 

At that Dave immediately leans forward, clearing his throat nervously before Joe says another word or we try to give him an answer. He sets his ukulele on the floor and rests a hand on Joe’s shoulder, so he can caress his cheek with the thumb. 

“Son, they don’t--You don’t go around asking about your mother.” 

“But that’s what you do,” complains the little toddler. 

“Well, yeah, perhaps, but they don’t know anything about your mother,” Dave chuckles nervously, “I ask those people who I think will know something about her. I am sorry if you misunderstood.” 

“Hey, I’d love to learn how to play The Beatles on the ukulele,” says Ian all of a sudden, too enthusiastically, in order to spare the four of us from an extremely uncomfortable silence, “so I could brag to all of my family too. Would you please, please, show me? Just a little bit?” 

That seems to distract Joe well enough, as he grabs back his ukulele. 

“It’s not easy,” he remarks, which prompts chuckles all around the table. “Have you ever played?” 

“Not a ukulele, no,” confesses Ian. “I have played a guitar a few times myself. Before--” 

Ian stops talking all of a sudden, only because I slam my foot over his ankle and he has to swallow back a complaint--but I couldn’t let him finish that sentence, not in front of Joe, not when he’s managed to distract the boy. I did know that he was in a band in his younger teen years and that he learnt to play the drums and the guitar, before the Apocalypse--however, this is a piece of information Joe doesn’t need to know. 

Thankfully for all of us, seems like Joe hasn’t realized the interruption. 

“It’s not the same!” chuckles the toddler. 

“I do know that and above all I’m completely rusty, so be patient with me, okay?” begs Ian as he takes the ukulele Dave hands him. 

“Well, let’s start with the basis: whereas the guitar has got six strings, the uke has only four--” 

“I hadn’t noticed!” exclaims Ian, making Joe burst out laughing before he can resume his explanation. 

“Do you remember the chords for the guitar?” 

“Think so, yeah,” nods Ian, a bit uncertain now that he has to dig up knowledge hidden so deep he doesn’t even know where to start digging. He stretches his fingers and looks down on the ukulele. “The C, D, E, F, G, A, B and C. ” 

“Well done, you remember the musical notes,” praises Joe, clearly making fun out of Ian. 

“It’s a miracle I remember that much,” chuckles Ian. “Let me see, the G chord was this one--” 

“Yes, and it becomes a D chord on the ukulele,” Joe provides, staring intently at Ian’s fingers on the strings, “the same fingers position. No, the index finger goes there--yeah, that’s more like it. You got it.” 

While Ian and Joe are distracted playing the ukulele, which I’m starting to think isn’t much of a distraction than a real interest from Ian’s part, I lean forward on my couch to be closer to Dave and have somewhat of a private conversation in spite of having his son two feet from us. 

“Now that I think about it, yours is about the same age, isn’t he?” asks Dave. 

“Nick’s a bit younger, but yeah, close enough,” I nod, as if giving an explanation as why Ian’s so good and keen towards toddlers. I look above my shoulders and see them quite entertained with the ukulele and Ian's clumsiness. The boy's distracted enough for me to have a conversation a tad more serious with Dave. Looking at him by the corner of my eye, I see that he’s not doing so bad with the instrument--might make a professional out of him just yet. “So, tell me--I’m assuming you’re not on a road trip?” 

Dave chuckles, a sad laugh, and takes a sip of his juice. 

“No, we aren’t,” he confirms. “We are looking for his mother. Well, step-mother, to be precise.” 

“Step--?” 

“Before the Apocalypse I had a wife and a nine-year-old son. We were separated. As a matter of fact, I surrendered myself in order to give them a chance at escaping. And then I met and fell in love with Jawlong, a Soul who came from the Dragon’s Planet. Somehow she felt the same towards me and, well--we had Joe,” Dave explains, a sense of melancholy and regret on his voice. 

I must hold onto the couch in order to control my response--I have to physically stop myself from turning around without a shred of dignity or discretion and check Joe’s eyes. But I already know he’s a human boy. There’s no Soul inside of him--perhaps there never was. 

“Jawlong. . . She left after the first videos of your lectures came out,” Dave proceeds. “Please don’t feel bad about it, she’d have done it soon enough even if you had never made those speeches. She was such a delicate and loving woman, so full of regret and remorse for what she’d done to this Earth and to our family. . . It’s a miracle she stayed around Joe’s life as long as she did--I think the boy was the only thing keeping her here.” 

“It’s the love for a person the thing that compels us to stay,” I nod. “The same love that forces us to leave the Earth.” 

“You know that from experience, huh?” asks Dave, tilting his head towards Ian, and I can do nothing but nod to confirm his thoughts. It’s obvious to anyone with two eyes that Ian and I are irretrievably in love. 

“Anyhow, my son somehow managed to find me, find us actually,” Dave proceeds his story. “You imagine the scene after he found out not only had I betrayed his mother’s love, but that I had had a child with another female, a woman who didn’t even belong to our species.” 

Those words make me shiver. I cannot truly imagine what he’s talking about, I haven’t lived that scene. I turn to look at Ian, too distracted by the lessons he’s getting from Joe--such a reaction from Dave’s son could have been what I’d gotten from Nicholas. Was he at any point so horror-struck and baffled by the choices his youngster had made? Is he still at some points? 

Is that the reason why he left without any explanation? He just couldn’t take it anymore? 

Dave rests a hand on my knees--he must have seen the dismay and apprehension in my eyes. 

“Don’t fret, my darling. I’m sure any father would be proud to have you as his daughter,” he promises, his voice sweet and caring. The same way Nicholas has spoken to me ever since we met--or more accurately, ever since we made peace after that experience at the shelter. What am I supposed to believe now? 

“Everyone’s dealing with the situation as best as they can,” he says. “Some people just need more time than others, but not two people are the same, dearest Wanderer. Don’t you worry.” 

“I’m--I’m not,” I try to reassure him, but the flutter on my voice indicates him, and also myself, that I was just trying to convince us both. 

“Just look at you--you have just fulfilled the latest mission that was expected of you, with such humongous success,” says he, patting me on the knee reassuringly. “Everything’s going to be okay for all of us, you’ll see. Just give it time.” 

“How’re you holding up?” 

Dave chuckles, a humorless laugh, resting against his couch. He rubs the velveted armchair for a few seconds before he can give me a straight answer. 

“I’m just trying to get through each day,” he says slowly. “Won’t abandon either one of my sons, even if one of them is who knows where around the States. And won’t forget either my two true lovers--Jawlong will always stay within my heart, although I’ll be searching for my lawfully wedded wife until my last breath leaves my body.” 

“And--how’re you doing with the search?” I ask very slowly, my words barely above a whisper, trying not to crumble and keep the tears at bay. 

“You know how it is,” Dave replies. “It’s not easy. But we’ve got years ahead of us--and those missions give us some hope still. No one in their right mind would have engaged them if there wasn’t a chance of finding survivors.” 

“Certainly,” I promise, resting a hand on his arm now. “There are a lot of humans in hiding still. I can’t tell you the numbers exactly, but there’s hope, oh, there is. One of those humans could very well be your wife.” 

“Thank you, Wanderer,” he sighs, squeezing my hand. “Why don’t you leave already? You must be tired of listening to old, boring stories. And you look as if you were going somewhere.” 

“We’ve got nowhere to go, as a matter of fact,” I promise, leaning back on my couch to prove that I’m not moving any time soon--although Dave does have a point, wearing night suits during the day gives the impression that we’ve got some place important to be. “We should let Joe finish such a marvelous lesson.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda's little bubble of joy and happiness is burst by the arrival of two members of Congress, which takes quite a toll on her.

“Okay, listen up, Jared: the Gettysburg address was a speech given by which US President in 1863?”

Jared rolls his eyes instead of answering--although to be honest, that was the reaction Jamie got from up and down the table due to his Level-1 difficulty question, even if it is tonight’s first round amongst the family. 

“You’re taking it easy on me,” scowls Jared. 

“I certainly am,” nods Jamie. “Don’t want to disqualify you on the first round.” 

“Well, that’s nice. Will that be happening on the second round, then?” 

“Oh, you can count on it,” chuckles Jamie as he winks at Jared. 

“Yeah, well, in the meantime, clock’s running,” I remind the two of them before we get distracted from the actual game. “The answer, please, Jared?” 

“President Abraham Lincoln,” he says right away, proving that Jamie did take it too easy with Jared this time. She then turns to his right, where Mel’s seated, to ask her the next question. “Okay, then--according to Greek Mythology, what was the name of the Greek Goddess of Victory?” 

“Hey! No taking it easy on your partner!” complains Jamie again. He does have a point, however, and although we dismissed the idea at the beginning of the game, I know I’ll support Jamie after this round and agree not to let couples sit side by side. This game is more important than my relationship with Ian. 

“Nike,” Mel answers either way, “but Jamie’s right, you don’t need to go easy on me,” she adds, leaning forward to give Jared a small peck on the lips. “Okay, Ian--the names of the first two astronauts to set foot on the moon in 1963?” 

Ian does need a couple seconds to answer the question. Mel’s not really indulgent towards Ian and I still can’t decipher if it all goes back to the same quarrel concerning my well-being. 

“Armstrong and Aldrin,” says Ian in the end. 

“I _did_ ask for their names,” Mel points out. 

“Oh, come on, Mel, Ian’s answer’s valid--he got the surnames right, after all,” I reply before they set off a little argument that blows off the game for good before we’ve finished one whole round. After our mission, we’ll pretty much do anything to keep the two of them from fighting. “Go on ahead, Ian.” 

At my command, Ian turns to his right, where Nicholas Senior is seated. 

“Al Capone was a known mobster who was sentenced to prison for what crime?” he asks and, without waiting for his father’s answer, he turns to his left again to address Mel. “Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin, by the way.” 

Mel rolls her eyes at Ian for giving her the answer either way out of a grudge, but thankfully a family quarrel is avoided, for Nicholas choose that moment to answer Ian’s question. 

“Tax evasion. Really, _I_ told you that, Ian--careful with what you ask me. 

“Let’s see, Wanderer--according to the Arthurian legend, what was the name of the sword in the stone?” 

“Excalibur,” I answer right away, “or just ‘Calibur’, if you’d prefer.” 

“Both are correct, of course,” nods Nicholas--but by then I’m already facing Jamie, to my right, who’s only more than ready to recieve my question. 

“Well, Jamie. . . Which space craft set off for Jupiter in 1972?” 

He needs about ten seconds to answer that question, but he’s got a remarkable memory, no doubt about it. 

“Pioneer 10,” he says and then turns to his right with a smug expression, making Jared grunt under his breath. 

“Well, I’m out,” scowls Jared, slamming his head on the table. 

“Don’t give up so soon,” I complain in a chuckle. “Just listen to the question!” 

Jamie’s question, the year of the beginning of the Spanish Civil War, doesn’t get Jared disqualified, but one round later he does get disqualified after not knowing the iris Great Famine started by the collapse of the potato crop; Melanie loses because she can’t tell Sinterklass is the Dutch version of our Santa Claus; Ian answers Russia for being the country who, all his territories considered, covers the most time zones, when it is France because of her overseas territories; and Nicholas, the last man standing, gets disqualified for confusing the roman numeral letter L, which equals 50, with the D, which equals 500. 

Once again, after five rounds and fifteen minutes of playing, Jamie and I are the only ones remaining. I almost run out of time while trying to remember it allegedly was Marie Antoinette who said “Let them eat cake”, but happens the same to Jamie when I ask him who wrote the lyrics of “Je ne regrette de rien”, which was Michel Vaucaire and not the singer Edith Piaf. 

We ask about the color of the covers of crime books published in the 1930’s by Victor Gollancz, which plant has the scientific name of Galanthus, which artist was nicknamed as “Jack the Dripper”, the full name of the Barbie doll, Orion being the constellation where the giant stars of Betelguese and Rigel are located, the one common item in the kitchen made up of sodium and chlorine atoms, the human name of the disc-shaped region of icy bodies in the outer solar system that extends from Neptune to about 55 astronomical units, where is the location of the archeological site Gobekli Tepe, the names of the three writing systems used in Japan, the name of the currency used in Spain before the euro. But in the end, Jamie cannot possibly remember the name for the astronomical phenomenon where three or more celestial bodies form a straight-line visible from Earth. 

The word Syzygy marks, then, the end of the game--as Jamie and I shake hands, there are grunts and sighs of relief all over. Only then do we realize that Mel, Jared, Ian and Nicholas had left to spread around the living room to wait until we finished. This is kind of our evening routine once we put Nick to bed and have eaten dinner ourselves--enjoy a friendly and fun game, although competitive too, amongst our family. 

“Well done,” praises Mel, although I doubt if she was listening at all by the end of the game, “now it’s time to go to bed.” 

“But Mel--” Jamie tries to complain. 

“Have you checked the time by any chance? To bed, now,” orders Mel, her stern voice telling Jamie he won’t win _this_ particular debate even if he tried. Head dropped, he heads towards the front entrance. 

“Goodnight,” I bid farewell.

“Sleep tight,” adds Nicholas. 

With varying well-wishes we say goodbye after him, but Jamie simply he slams the door shut without responding. As we gather around the kitchen again and Ian reaches for some glasses of wine, I exchange one look with Mel--knowing Jamie might take advantage of being by himself to delay going to bed, such as watching the TV, but we don’t mention it out loud. No one’s keen to have a confrontation these days. 

We start drinking our glasses around the kitchen table for a little chitchat, usually involving the next day’s activities, but soon enough we all go back to the living room and sit around the couches and armchairs to watch a bit of TV. Per usual, although not per unanimity, we stick to one of those boring and horrible movies by the Souls until our eyes drop and we too decide to go to sleep. 

Ever since that night at the hotel Ian hasn’t said no to me again, not ever, but today I’m just too tired to ask him--we’ve spent most of the day outdoors, after all--so we just tuck in bed after making sure Nick’s alright. 

For the past few days I’ve had some amazingly long sleeping patterns: scarcely as much as Nick and I sleep like a log all night long. It’s been days since I got back all the lack of sleep I’d lost throughout the mission and the quarrel between Ian and Mel--and still I know I could keep up with these sleeping patterns without any remorse at all. 

But tonight’s different. 

I suddenly open my eyes and jump off the bed, noticing it’s still dark outside. My first priority: Nick. My son’s still sound asleep on his crib, he’s not the reason why I woke up with a fright. Second: Ian’s nowhere in the dormitory. And third, I figure out the cause of me waking: a heated conversation taking place outside. 

Wrapping myself into my housecoat, I leave the room hurriedly, to make sure the conversation--arguing really--doesn’t wake up Nick. From where I am I still cannot figure out the words, but I can tell Ian’s the other person. Correction: Jared’s there too. What in the world is going on for Jared, who sleeps at the end of the hall, to come by thinking he needed to give a hand out? 

I slowly come out of the bed, grab the housecoat lying on the floor and open the bedroom door, hoping against hope that the door’s hinges don’t creak for once.  
   
But per usual they do and my attempt at being silent and inconspicuous fails before the plan even starts, catching the attention of Nicholas. Standing in the middle of the corridor, at the kitchen’s entrance, dressed in his pajamas and night coat too, he turns around and greets me with a warm, yet tired, smile.  
   
“Wanderer.”  
   
“Nicholas,” I correspond as I try to reach the living room. He meets me halfway through the corridor--and then doesn’t move away. Clearly trying to stop, or at least stall me.  
   
“What’s going on? Who is it?”

“It’s nothing, I promise. Why don’t you go back to sleep?” he suggests--trying to get me out of there, which just compels me to stay and figure out what he’s attempting to shield me from.  
   
But I’m close enough to understand the argument.  
   
“Don’t you think it’s a little bit late?” demands Ian then.  
   
“As a matter of fact, it’s 5 in the morning,” says a woman, whose voice I don’t recognize, but just as cold and rude as Ian’s was. This can only mean she’s a human. How are we still fighting against each other? We’re supposed to be at peace, aren’t we?  
   
“Then it’s awfully early for social visits,” scowls Jared through clenched teeth.  
   
“I think we all know this isn’t any kind of social visit, Mr. Howe,” says a man, him trying to be reasonable in spite of everything else.  
   
“I don’t give a damn why you’re here or if you believe this visit is appropriate at all. Get the hell out of here.”  
   
“No need to be so nice with a guest,” says the woman. “And if you’d wake her, she’d agree--”  
   
“She won’t agree to anything because we won’t be awaking anyone, not in a few hours, at least,” scowls Ian now. “You might want to climb into that car of yours and drive back to wherever you came from, because you are not talking to her.”

“Weren’t we clear about that every time you’ve come here?” demands Jared.  
   
At that I decide I’m not going to be stopped anymore. I shake off Nicholas’s hand and step into the living room without much of the fight I’d feared. Do I get this right? So these visitors have been coming by our place oftentimes, presumably to talk to me, and I haven’t been informed of it? What in the world is going on?  
   
Some of my questions are answered as soon as I step into the living room and recognize Congresswomen Panrola and Frideswilde standing at the hall, Ian blocking the entrance, Jared and Mel blocking their getaway route too. Although seeing such a scene raises almost as many questions as it answered.  
   
“Please, I think--” tries to say the Congressman.  
   
“Couldn’t care less about what you think,” Ian scowls, astonishing me by her rudeness towards the members of Congress. “Please, go away before I’m forced to call security.”  
   
“There is no police here, Mr. O’Shea.”  
   
“For once, you failed to notice I was being nice. I’ll throw you out of here myself.”  
   
“And I’ll hold the door open for him,” specifies Jared, so they all know where they stand.  
   
“Good evening, everyone,” I greet coldly, raising my voice to interrupt the arguing.  
   
As surprised as I was seconds ago to meet members of Council at my doorstep, or to realize my family members had been hiding things from me, my surprise cannot even be compared with the fright I cause Ian, Mel and Jared--they all turn around in shock and varying faces of horror. They certainly wished to keep me in the dark for much longer, I can tell. And I’m proven right by Ian’s next words, addressed to his father.  
   
“Dad! Why is she here?”  
   
“Hey, I’m not guarding a prison either,” replies Nicholas, leaning against a wall and crossing his arms nonchalantly. He, for one, didn’t consider it a priority to stop me and keeping me in the dark.  
   
“You were planning on not telling me about this visit, then?” I ask slowly as I cross the living room, fully aiming at hurting Ian’s feelings. And then the last words go right into his heart. “Again?”  
   
“You have to understand,” begs Ian.  
   
“I really don’t,” I scowl, leaning against the doorframe. “Nice to see you two, Congressman Frideswilde, Congresswoman Panrola.”  
   
“Samantha, please,” begs the woman as I shake hands with her after greeting Congressman Frideswilde the same way. “I could never pronounce that gabble, honestly.”  
   
“Okay. Samantha it is, then,” I nod, chuckling, crossing my arms as I stare at the members of Congress and then my family again. “May I ask where are your manners, guys? Why don’t you offer the members of Council a drink and a seat?”  
   
“They’re not staying,” scowls Mel.  
   
“I’m sorry, does this happen to be your household?” I demand.  
   
“Well, excuse me, darling, but this is as much Ian’s house as yours,” replies Mel--a fairest point had there been one.  
   
I nod at her and then turn to look at Ian, eyebrows raised. He holds my gaze for some mere seconds and then he sighs deeply, closing his eyes. He doesn’t have to say anything as I start smiling and face Panrola and Frideswilde again.  
   
“Pardon my family, Congresswoman, Congressman,” I beg, pointing at the living room with my head. Giving in, Ian steps aside to let them both get in. “Please, do come in. We can have our own session of Council.”  
   
“This could indeed be Council, so it’s appropriate,” nods Frideswilde as he steps into the apartment.  
   
As we follow him and Congresswoman Samantha, including Jared and Mel who’ve invited themselves in, everyone scatters around for varying chores: Jared turns on some lights so we’re not in the darkness, Ian takes Frideswilde’s and Panrola’s coats, Nicholas heads for the kitchen and turns on the neon lights so he can start preparing some coffee—looks like we’re all going to need it.  
   
I stand in the middle of the apartment, facing both members of Congress, and chuckle, still keeping up with the prior conversation.  
   
“It could certainly be, Congressman.”  
   
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asks Jared, meeting us at the center of the living room.  
   
“Well, we Souls believe that everyone has a voice and holds power,” starts explaining Frideswilde, his voice canny and amiable, without noticing, or maybe pretending not to notice, Jared’s sharp tone.  
   
“Which is just another way of saying that no one holds real power,” scowls Jared.  
   
“No, it does not,” I scowl in return, spinning on my heels to face him. “It means we all have an equal share of rights, voice and power. This means we all reach decisions and take actions together, with a unanimous consent, through an important process of deliberation and arguing.”  
   
“Seems difficult to make decisions, then,” Mel points out.  
   
“It really isn’t,” replies Frideswilde. “Not when we all share the same beliefs and opinions.”  
   
I drop my gaze to my feet--that’s a tender spot where my family is concerned. That’s why I clear my throat and try to get back on track. Certainly we’re not here at 5am for a debate about the differences between our species.  
   
“Well, Congresswoman--”   
   
“You really don’t have to call me that,” Samantha interjects me. “I’d rather you didn’t. The title’s merely temporarily--I took it because no-one else volunteered. The moment they find a replacement I’ll stop being a member of Council.”  
   
“I understand,” I say, stuttering a bit--still strikes as somewhat of a surprise for a member of Council to be speaking in this way.  
   
Nicholas coming in, carrying a tray with enough cups of coffee, spoons, milk and sugar for everyone, saves the day. We all take seats around the living room, grabbing some chairs from the major table. I sit on the armchair, not in the mood to be close to Ian and give him a chance to caress me, or kiss me, and win me over so easily. He must be feeling the same, I gather, since he keeps standing at the other side of the living room, arms crossed, purposefully avoiding my eyes.  
   
“Well, let’s not drag into it. Congressman, Samantha--the purpose of your visit is…?”  
   
“Yes, I reckon we’ve wasted enough time,” says her after sharing one brief look with her partner, setting aside the cup of coffee. “Can we assume you haven’t been keeping up with the news?”  
   
I tense immediately, my back completely straight, turning white. I cannot even qualify her words as an accusation; they’re nothing more than the truth. Whether it was consciously or not--by now I’m starting to believe my family insisted on spending so much time outdoors so the members of Congress wouldn’t find me at home--I haven’t been keeping up with the news nation-wide since we got to Denver. I haven’t turned on the TV nor the radio in all the days I’ve spent here in Denver. And that’s on me.  
   
“What have I missed?” I demand, looking not just at the two Congress members, but to my family members too. Oh, they’re more than able to keep things from me while being them aware of the whole thing.  
   
“Thirteen human cells have already been found, nationwide,” Nicholas answers for all those who didn’t dare, for some reason, to speak up.

“Dad!” complains Ian, throwing his arms up in the air in desperation.  
   
“What? It’s not as if _I_ am going to lie to her.”  
   
“Well, thank you for throwing me under the bus.”  
   
“It’s been a long time since you last needed my protection,” remarks Nicholas.  
   
“Do you mind?” I shriek--they were getting really off track and I’m not having any of it. I’m still dumbfounded and shocked at the news. Thirteen cells? That’s better news than the prospects suggested at the beginning. “Well, that’s great news, then.”  
   
“It is,” confirms Congressman Frideswilde, tilting his head to one side, smiling at me fondly. And somewhat naively, I have the feeling he’s just looking down on me--although a Soul would never do that to a fellow Soul. “That’s great news.”  
   
“Okay, I gather this is the ‘good news’ section and now the ‘bad news’ one is coming up?” I ask with a notch of fear in my voice--a fair guess considering everyone’s reactions and answers to my untimely joy.  
   
“No, not really, Wanda--” Ian tries to dismiss, but I cut him off as I turn towards his father again.  
   
“And may I know how did you know that?”  
   
Nicholas holds my eye for a couple seconds, almost as surprised as I sounded.

“I _have_ been listening to the news,” he says finally.  
   
“And did your three-day disappearance have something to do with it?” I press. Now that I’m finding out I’ve been kept in the dark on so many levels I can’t help but mistrust every little, tiny thing that has been amiss around here lately. And when I see Ian and Nicholas exchanging one look I realize that, for once, my instinct was on point.  
   
“Well?” I demand.  
   
“I went to see Harrison,” explains Nicholas immediately. “And the others.”

Those words send a shiver down my spine as I try to control my shivering—so many bad memories flood my brain—and I just drop to the couch, a hand up to my heart. I need some long seconds to realize these are actually pretty good news. Breathing in and out deeply for a couple times, I clear my throat.  
   
“They’ve come out of the shelter, then?” I ask.  
   
Nicholas, without looking anywhere but into my eyes, perhaps to assess how I will really take his words, just nods once.

“Yes,” he confirms. “A few days ago they contacted me and asked to meet. We spent a few hours in a Recovering Center but then we just stayed outdoors--they had to see that it was all real. In the end, they came to believe me. They’re starting their new lives.”  
   
“That’s great news,” I find myself saying--and I’m not sure if I’m being sincere or just pretending, saying the words a Soul is supposed to say under such circumstance.  
   
Ian steps closer to stand right by my side. “Are they?” he asks.  
   
“Well, yeah, Ian--that’s five less human we need to look for and worry about,” I scowl.  
   
“After what they did to you, you cannot possibly be at all concerned for--”  
   
“They’re humans, just like the rest of people we’re trying to find--it _is_ as simple as that, Ian,” I state. “So yes, I am happy for them. Is there anything else you want to share with the class now that you’ve started?”  
   
Those words freeze Ian as he stares up at me dumbfounded, his mouth hanging half-open. It’s Mel who steps closer to give me an answer.  
   
“There’s nothing to tell--”  
   
“Oh, like I can believe that now,” I scowl with a roll of eyes. Jared’s the second one to give it a try, without seeing, without understanding, that they’ve crossed a line this time.  
   
“You don’t need to know. . .”  
   
“ _But I do!_ ” I shriek. “You keeping things from me isn’t the way to protect me. That’s just a way of hurting me in the long run.”  
   
“No,” Ian breathes out, almost a desperate plea, “we just wanted--”  
   
“Hiding things from me could only mean that you don’t trust me, or that you think of me as too weak a person to handle the truth--either reason, I’m hurt, Ian! So be straight with me for once: what else have you been hiding from me?!”  
   
My second shriek on a row does the trick and so Ian, his eyes closed as not to see first-hand the toll his words cause me, starts talking.  
   
“Nancy--remember her? The waitress who lived across that café?--had a relapse a couple weeks ago and she’s been recovering at the Healing Center at the 2nd street. She tried contacting you, so the two of you could talk,” he says. “Aaron found his mother last week, in Wisconsin, but learnt that the human’s conscience has disappeared and that the Host cannot live without a Soul inside of her. Stanley’s father’s been found and is recovering at a Recuperating Center in Delaware. I believe this is pretty much--”  
   
“You’re forgetting about--” tries to interject Samantha, but she’s cut off rudely by Ian.  
   
“I don’t think she needs a report on every human being on this Planet, either.”  
   
“Well, guess what, Ian: I might do!” I reply.  
   
I stand and cross the living room in two long strides. No-one moves a finger to stop me--on the other hand, I’d never be able to harm Ian or anyone else present, maybe apart from Congressman Frideswilde due to his shock--and so I stand tall to face Ian as close as I’m physically able to, although we’re still so very inches apart because of our height difference.  
   
“Those seven billion people living here--I’ve affected all of their lives directly, Ian! I should know what are the consequences of my acts, even if it’s bad news. I can handle it. I should be able to accept my mistakes. But give me the chance to do it. I deserve to be given the chance. I think I’ve earned that right.”  
   
My last words are nothing but a whispered plea, but they still work, probably better than my initial shrieks. Ian closes his eyes, drops both hands to the side and after holding his breath, he just sighs deeply--giving up.  
   
He then casts his glance towards the two members of Congress, as I turn around to face them too, hiding my shaky hands by crossing my arms.  
   
“Well?” I demand.  
   
Samantha, for one, doesn’t stall and gives me an immediate, straight answer--which is definitely something I appreciate. She talks while opening her suitcase and rummaging its contents until she finds this one folder and stands in order to hand it to me.   
   
“Two groups have been taken in Alabama State,” she says. “Number 0872 and 0019. We assume the responsible are the human cells they were after, although we’ve got no confirmation, yet. The rescue teams have already been dispatched, to no avail for now: they haven’t been heard or seen since. In the State of Tennessee, group 0522 was attacked, caught by surprise late at night, and the fight ended with one dead and five injured, three in critical condition. The humans could be apprehended and are currently being held at the Recuperating Center in Butler.”  
   
My head’s spinning. The folder Samantha’s given me is a report straight from Council confirming all of her words, which sounded impossible when Samantha first started talking--plus an addendum of ten more pages. A list of all the groups who’ve found themselves in some sort of vicissitude and had to send the distress signal--none of which has been seen or heard of ever since, which means the report is missing those groups who’ve been merely injured. Nine, twelve, seventeen. . . I have to stop counting and flicking pages before I’m sick.   
   
“In Michigan--”   
   
“You can stop right there,” Ian interjects, stepping between Samantha and me, not too close. To my right, Mel takes the folder from my hands and slams it shut before I read another word, which comes on point.   
   
“ _Abort the missions!_ ” I shriek. “Abort it all now! What’s the damn problem; d’you need my permission or my approval for everything?!”   
   
In the dead silence that follows my shriek, we all stand flabbergasted, staring at Samantha, although Jared does step forward to take the folder from Mel’s hands and have a very brief look at it--he can’t stand it more than I did and throws it away on the couch, not bothering to show an amiable gesture to hand it over back to Samantha. They all give me some seconds to calm down.   
   
“We did, of course, Wanderer,” promises Samantha then, her voice low. “All the missions are on hold for the time being.”   
   
“And--”   
   
“They will be called off in the imminent future,” she answers the question I was going to ask, “unless a particular group refuses to give it up for good reasons, every one of the missionaries will drop their missions and return home.”   
   
“Not going to be so easy, the forgetting part,” Jared remarks on.   
   
“They’ll have to accept it and adapt,” replies Samantha. “This was obviously the wrong way of facing the conundrum. We’ll have to rethink and redo the plans. We cannot be risking any more lives.”   
   
“No kidding!” I can’t help but shrieking, out of despair and exasperation--a short chuckle escapes my lips as well. My reaction shocks me as much as it shocks my family members and Congressman Frideswilde and so I take some long seconds to calm down. I close my hands in fists and just focus on breathing in and out until I know I won’t be snapping at anyone again.  
   
“Well, then,” I say, very slowly, trying to keep cool, “send out messages to all the groups. Tell them to reconvene in Washington D.C. or wherever else you want. And--”  
   
“No, I don’t think that’s the best idea,” Jared interjects, stepping forward. He addresses me one look, as if asking forgiveness for the interruption, before he keeps on talking. “More or less successfully, all of those groups were tracking down human cells. If I know humans, they’re not going to wrap it all up easily.”  
   
“And your suggestion is that we allow them to pursue such a dangerous task?” I demand. “Haven’t you been listening? Groups have been taken! There are injured! Dead people!”  
   
“I happen to know everything that’s been going on, thank you very much,” replies the man and keeps on talking before I’ve got time to feel hurt because and react to the accusation. “I also happen to know I wouldn’t just drop the mission, were I told to, if I were close to finding the human cell or had at least a trail or some hints to follow.”

“Then we won’t make it a command, just a suggestion,” says Samantha, “inviting the groups who want so to drop the mission and return home and allowing those who wish so to stay and keep on investigating.”  
   
“Yeah, you don’t want to have to track down even more humans because they disobeyed the order,” nods Jared, chuckling. Mel joins in too, as well as Nicholas and Ian--they’re all human and they’d probably disregard a command from Council if they didn’t agree with the instructions. That is one thing all humans can agree with. One more striking difference between Souls and humans.  
   
“So we’re not going to do _anything?_ ” I demand, shattering, I know, their little bubble of joy now that we’d recovered some good-hearted humor. “We send the groups back out there and that’s it?”  
   
“We could send more people to each of the groups. You know, for support and protection,” says Jared.  
   
“No, that’s crazy,” scowls Mel, shaking her head. “That would only put more people in danger and increase the chances of them all getting injured, or worse, dead--the human cells won’t pity nor have mercy the larger the group.”  
   
I shiver upon those words, the ghastly prospect of more injured being just too awful to think about, but refuse Ian’s embrace to comfort me. I just grab the blanket from the sofa and wrap myself in it, realizing all too late it’s not very glamorous, especially when Samantha and Congressman Frideswilde are wearing formal night suits. I just stand between Nicholas and Mel, too far away from Ian for both our tastes.  
   
“What, then?” I ask. “We’re not forcing them to drop the missions, but we’re not sending them back home either?”  
   
“Every group should decide what to do,” says Ian. “Only they can tell how close they are at finishing their missions. Can’t really make the decision for them.”  
   
“That was settled already,” scowls Samantha, prompting rolls of eyes all over the room--we need no more proof that she’s human alright, in spite of being a Congresswoman still. “The real question here is what the hell we should do next. How can we pursue tracking down human cells without risking the missionaries’ lives in the process also?”  
   
“By sending them all home, of course,” says a new voice.  
   
“Jamie,” yells Mel, as we all spin on our heels to face the door--finding our little brother standing right there, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. Who knows how long has he been standing there, listening in--we can tell he’s hurt for not being involved nor invited to be involved in the conversation to start with.  
   
“Go to bed,” I admonish him, already knowing it’s a lost battle.  
   
“Of course,” he accepts too easily. Even I can tell he’s just playing with us. “Just after we decide on a plan. And don’t you tell me I don’t have a right to be here, because I did stay at the last meeting with Council.”  
   
“That has nothing to do with. . .” Jared interjects what could have been a very long bickering from my part discussing if Jamie was owed a chair and a voice in this meeting too.  
   
“What’s your idea, then?” demands the man. “Drop the missions, just like that?”  
   
Jamie tilts his head but instead of giving an answer, he steps into the apartment slowly--clearly enjoying being the center of attention of his family and two members of Congress--and only stops when he’s standing in the middle of the room, in the midst of our circle.  
   
“Go home,” resumes Jamie, nodding his head, “but not before leaving something for the human cells to find. A message. A testimonial.”  
   
“Didn’t you say that such a thing wouldn’t work?” asks Congressman Frideswilde, pointing at Jared with his finger, who tilts his head to one side. We all remember that one conversation at Council. 

“Well, I’m not talking about putting up neon signs around the place,” scowls Jamie with a roll of eyes, almost hurt that they should consider him as such a stupid child. “I’m saying that the message we wanted to give the human cells doesn’t need to be delivered in person. A heartfelt, sincere message, recorded or written, by humans, might just do the trick.” 

“Like Matthew’s testimonial,” I whisper. As well as my lectures, the one speech Matthew recorded, per my suggestion, before leaving the Earth due to my teachings at San Diego is still running around the world too. I hope he is aware of that. 

“Like Matthew’s testimonial,” nods Jamie, smiling triumphantly. “In that message we could explain everything that has happened without being interrupted--and they might believe it this time. We know how marvelous a direct conversation can prove to be,” he adds, graver tone now, and this time I do reach for Ian’s hand and support upon the memories of almost being killed by Martin’s crew while we were trying to explain how things had changed in the outside world. 

“How do you plan on giving the message to the human cells?” asks Jared. 

“We wouldn’t. The missionaries will leave the recorded message or the letter behind for the human cell to find--they won’t miss the chance of investigating the place where people who were close to find them stayed, to make certain they’ve left for real,” explains Jamie, a reasoning that baffles me. I’m guessing I still saw him as my little brother, nothing more than that. “Which they will.” 

“Y--Yes, of course,” stutters Congressman Frideswilde after Jamie pierced him with his scarcely intimidating glare. 

“And so they’ll feel comfortable hearing the message,” resumes Jamie. “We can tell and show them how things have changed, and ask them to come out, whenever they’re ready, and meet at some nearby place. In other words--” 

“Give them the power,” Ian finishes Jamie’s sentence, to which the boy nods again with pride in his eyes. “Give them time, allow them to control the next steps. We could even add an address they could reach out to in order to set up a meeting in a place of their choosing, where they can make sure with their own eyes that it’s not a trap.” 

“Yeah, something along those lines,” agrees Jamie, nonchalant, although he can barely contain himself. 

“But they might not listen to it,” Mel points out. 

Jamie shrugs at that, not letting anything get in the way of his magnificent plan tonight. 

“It’s a risk worth taking,” he says. “Better than risking people’s lives. And if in a few months this hasn’t worked, we can meet again and plan something else.” 

We all remain silent for some minutes, processing the idea as we stare at each other. At some point I need to sit down and Ian drags me over to the couch and sits by my side, but he still says nothing at all. Neither do Jared or Mel, apparently--not even a suggestion to improve Jamie’s plan. Since Samantha doesn’t speak against it either, and she and Congressman Frideswilde are here presumably on behalf of all twelve members of Council, I’m assuming we’ve got our very next move.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People all around the States send out their testimonials for their loved ones, while Wanda copes with her not keeping up with the real world's news, as well as with her family keeping her in the dark on so many things for so long.

“Do you need a hand with those?” I ask for the umpteenth time.  
   
There are only too many reasons why I should be turned down again—my weak body would only be an annoyance, they can manage by themselves to get the equipment downstairs and, fore and foremost, they want to lose sight of me as soon as humanly possible. That’s why, in spite of my apparently generous offer, I don’t go beyond the doorstep.  
   
“It’s OK, don’t trouble yourself,” replies one of the men, although he’s all sweaty and he’s panting because of the weight he’s carrying.

“Thank you, Wanderer,” says his peer. “And guess we’ll see you when we see you.”  
   
“See you soon,” I nod, my voice barely above a whisper. “Bye.”  
   
I shut the door before they even climb the elevator, so I can spare myself from apologizing--once again. I’ve done a lot of apologizing this past hour and it still won’t be enough. My remorse will linger for a very long time to come. I’ve wasted a lot of people’s time to no avail, which is like the last thing a Soul should ever do to someone else, I sigh as I lean against the wall, clutching my hands to my heart. Why was I put through a charade like this one?  
   
“Hey.”  
   
The single word almost makes me jump in fright--I hadn’t heard Ian approaching. Him resting both hands by both sides of my head and leaning forwards almost scares me just as much.  
   
“I’m sorry,” I can’t stop myself from saying.  
   
“Stop it,” he commands with a fierce that does make me jump. “Stop apologizing.”  
   
“I did just waste those crew members’ time,” I remark on, rising one eyebrow, not knowing what’s come over me. Neither I nor Ian need a reminder of what today has entailed.  
   
“So what,” he replies rudely, tilting his head. He grabs my hand and gently pulls me over to the armchair. Not as comfortable as we’d be in the couch, we sit on the armchair--or rather, Ian allows me to settle on his lap, one hand around my shoulders, the other caressing my leg. Trying to comfort me, I know. “Better question is--was that all you wanted to say?”  
   
I sigh deeply at that and rest my head on his shoulder, maybe trying to avoid his deep, concerned gaze--I couldn’t really expect him not to ask that one question.  
   
“Apparently,” I scowl under my breath.  
   
Clearly in a wrong move, I dare to lock eyes with Ian. The look I find in Ian’s eyes makes me wish for an imminent and perhaps painful death. I can see I’ve hurt him too, to top it all.  
   
The TV turns on suddenly and I shiver before I’ve caught a glimpse of the screen. Ian hurries to look for the remote control but in spite of his rush, he cannot find the device in time and we get to listen the first sentences of the man’s speech, yet another message addressed to humans in hiding. Or rather, to one human in particular, probably his son.  
   
“Mark Shepherd,” the man starts out, “If you’re out there, please listen. Listen and believe every word that I say, because everything I’m going to say is what I’ve learnt after a lifetime of rising and rearing you, and it’ll prove to you that I am your father. You were born on a Monday, December 3rd, in 1976. You weighted--”  
   
Finally Ian turns off the TV and we can enjoy the silence again--provided that our family members left as well soon after my nervous breakdown, taking Nick with them and forcing the crew members to join them too. But silence doesn’t last for long, not these days, what with the screens the authorities have been putting up all over the place, cities and countryside, so people all around the globe may hear and see them: messages from survivors looking for their loved ones and asking them to come out of their shelters are being displayed 24/7, messages addressed to very specific humans in order to encourage them to join the new world awaiting. The fainted sound of at least a couple speeches, coming from the screens on the street, reaches the apartment.

On my case, for some forsaken reason, Council has sent out a television crew to record my particular message--why my case had to be so different, I still do not know. But this morning we answered the door to a Television van, crew and equipment and witnessed the set up of a small TV studios as they transformed the living room with half a dozen lights, microphones and cameras, all facing me. Waiting on the couch, not even being allowed to have Ian with me for support, I’ve witnessed the whole process without daring to say a word.  
   
And I’ve remained speechless for the most part of the day. What was supposed to be fast, easy and simple has turned out to be an absolute disaster, to say the least. Beyond introducing myself and thanking humans for listening me, no more intelligent words left my mouth--no more bright ideas came to mind. In the end, when it was clear we were just wasting everybody’s time, Jessica, the woman in charge, just decided to put a stop to it all and send everyone home. They’ve simply left a hand-out camera, to my shame and embarrassment, in case I ever feel like trying it all again.  
   
“You’ve taught Human Studies 101 at College,” says Ian, rising one eyebrow.  
   
“Well, thank you for the reminder,” I scowl, trying to hide against his shoulder.  
   
“So, you couldn’t come up with anything you’d like to say to humans?” he presses. I know he’s not trying to give me hard time--he’s just curious and is trying to understand me. But I cannot make him understand. I’m having trouble understanding myself.  
   
“Don’t make it worse, please, Ian,” I beg. He squeezes me tightly and I understand what he means: that he’s not trying to make me feel worse, he’s just trying to help me. If I could just be honest with him…

I do realize he’s opening a window for me to speak up, but even before I can try to reassemble my thoughts, my chance is blown away by the arrival of Nicholas, bringing Nick home from the park, where they’ve stayed at most of the day--upon realizing I was no good for the TV crew. I can’t look at my father-in-law in the eye. I won’t be able to stand the surprise, remorse and hurt look I just know I’ll find. 

So I settle for a much easier, eager and compliant person: Nick. I jump of off Ian and go meet my son, taking him and holding him up over my head for some seconds, to later on lower him to my mouth and tickle him on the stomach. 

“Let’s go play for a while before dinner,” I suggest, knowing he won’t say no. 

A little later on, Mel welcomes herself in too, followed by Jamie and Jared, in spite of knowing there won’t be any games tonight after dinner. The tension is palpable as they greet me with monosyllables but don’t interrupt me, nor join me, in my game with Nick. They all go to the kitchen to have a word with Ian and Nicholas, including Jamie. I can’t make out a single word they say--not that I try that hard to eavesdrop this time. 

They’ve all fulfilled their latest duty with ease and celerity. They recorded their messages--Mel and Jamie addressing their parents, Jared his parents and siblings, Nicholas and Ian addressing their messages to humankind in general--and sent them out to Congress without much of a fuss or difficulty. But then I show up and apparently I don’t have anything relevant to say to humankind. I couldn’t make up more than thirty words together throughout the whole day. 

Yes, it is surprising, to say the least, that the person who taught Human Studies 101 at College, the person who got Souls to finally see reason, the person who put a stop to a ten-year invasion of our Planet, the person who gave humankind a chance at survival, doesn’t have a speech of sorts to address either of the species she belongs to--the irony isn’t missed, thank you very much. But now that I’m free to record such a message, now that I’ve been asked to, I can’t force myself to do it. 

I can’t really tell why’s that. Perhaps I’ve already said all what I had to say. Perhaps it has something to do with what I’ve seen and experienced the past few months. Either way, the conclusion is obvious: had anyone but me been the professor at Human Studies 101, our plan would have been successful much earlier and without so many mistakes along the way. 

At some point I have to yield and admit I can’t avoid my family forever. Nick has to be fed and then put to sleep, which means I have to face them at dinnertime. But I don’t have an explanation for them either and we spend the first half of dinner in absolute silence--Jamie once again saves the day by mentioning some TV program he saw last night and then proceeding to explaining it all at long length, interjected now and then by some remarks from us. 

We go to bed early, without games, because we’ve all got some work to do the next day. We head for the dinner we ate lunch at the very first day we stayed here in Denver--although the plan isn’t exactly to eat there. The differences between that day and today crumple my heart into a fist: we’re only saved from an awkward silence thanks to Nick’s childish joy and Jamie’s over the top efforts. Trying not to think about it too much, we step into the building across the dinner and head for the fourth floor. Even without a key, we can access the apartment A. 

As soon as we step inside my family and our little quarrel vanishes from my head, being replaced by a single thought: no Soul should ever be living like this. No human either. 

The windows and binder are all shut, so there's no natural light from the outside--and judging by the smell, they’ve been shut for a long time, too. Nancy hasn‘t even bothered to take out the trash, or to actually put the trash into bags for throwing them away, and piles of fast food, clothes, dishes, towels and bed sheets occupy every inch of the apartment there is to see. At some point she did try to get a hold of this mess, the broom and the sweep dropped on the floor prove it, but unfortunately she gave up on it altogether before she got any job done. 

“Okay,” I whisper, looking around without really knowing where to start. I unbuttoned my coat and take it off, but when I see the hanger on the floor too, with one too many coats, I just rest mine over my arm. “Mel, Jared, Nicholas, cleaning operation?”

“Right,” nods the man, taking a good look at the living room. “Jamie, you with us?” 

“Sure,” says he, unable to say no to a direct order. I am glad we drop off Nick at the gentle neighbor from the first floor, provided by some of his favorite books and toys--this is going to take longer than I had feared. 

“We’ll give you a hand in a second,” I say, trying to move forward without stepping on anything, a task not so easy to achieve considering the huge amount of rubbish on the floor. 

Ian follows me through the corridor to our right, where we assume, at least judging by the pillows thrown away around there, it's the bedroom. To our backs we hear someone opening the blinders and then the windows--natural light, however dim, breaks into the semi-darkness and a gush of cold air crosses the apartment. 

Nancy is indeed in the bedroom, sleeping in a bed with a set of sheets all crumpled up--I daren't guess how long has it been since thede sheets last went into a washing machine. The same could be said of Nancy herself, actually. Her hair's a mess and her gown's all sweaty and dirty because of food and sauces and who knows what else. It is undeniable that she's lost weight--there’s barely any resemblance to that energetic and healthy woman we met at the dinner a few months ago. She looks nothing like her. 

I exchange one look with Ian and he squeezes my shoulder encouragingly--the first time he's actually touched me all day--and I step forward to open the blinders. 

“Please don’t,” begs Nancy in a whisper I only heard because of the absolute silence of the room. “Light doesn’t do well with my headache.” 

“Sorry,” I apologize, crossing my arms. I hadn’t even noticed Nancy was actually awake--and by the looks of it, Ian had no clue either. 

“Wanda,” Nancy breathes out when she sees my face clearly. 

“Hello. Don’t try to stand, it’s okay,” I beg of her, since she was doing exactly that, a gesture that was clearly hurting her. I go to her instead, sitting down on the chair by the bed, grabbing Nancy’s hand--a gesture not at all awkward or uncomfortable between Souls. She leans on the bed again, letting out a long and deep gulp of air upon returning to her comfortable position, closing her eyes. Ian, on the other hand, decides to keep standing by the room’s entrance--only needs five seconds to realize the menacing and custodian nuance of his stand and vanishes from the bedroom immediately. 

“Listen,” I start off with my sweetest voice possible, “I was under the impression that you had Healers and Comforters keeping an eye on you?” 

Nancy smiles, a tired and skeptical smile, and opens her eyes to pierce me. “Seems like I scared them all away. Can’t really blame them, can we?” 

“Incidentally, we can,” I scowl, trying not to sound as pissed off as I really am. “It was their duty to take care of you and help you.” 

“There’s no helping me,” Nancy explodes, kicking the mattress. 

“Don’t say that,” I beg of her, squeezing her hand. “I am here to help you, Nancy. Any way I can.” 

“Well, I warn you now, you don’t want to do this.” 

“Oh, yes I want to,” I promise, giving her the flash od a smile. “And I will. We’ll figure this out, don’t you worry.” 

“Wanda, you really don’t--” 

“Then you don’t know me at all,” I interject her. 

“I killed a human! How’s anyone going to help me fix that?!” she shrieks, leaning forward to face me until she's just a few inches from me, a vein in her forehead popping up. The face I have in front of me is that of someone desperate, borderline insanity, because of the remorse and guilt over something she didn’t do. 

“First of all,” I start off very slowly, to give us both time to cool down, “you didn’t kill off anyone. Quite the opposite--you were trying to help that human.” 

“And I killed her off in the process,” she reminds me. 

There is no way I can let her feel down or blue because of what’s happened. I know very well, just because she’s a damned Soul, she did try to help the human she inhabited. She tried to get her memories back, to give her her life back, before she herself left the Host and the Earth. It’s not her fault, and that’s what she needs to understand, that something derailed and Nancy’s consciousness suddenly vanished. Now all that remains are her memories--a more painful reminder could hardly be found where a Soul’s concerned. 

“Well, I haven’t been that successful with my own missions either, so he who is without sin cast the first stone, right?” I chuckle, when I realize Nancy isn't likely to join me and I keep on talking before she snaps at me again. “Second, I’m not giving up on you. And you shouldn’t, either.” 

“It’s been two weeks,” she sighs deeply. 

“Give me two months and then I might consider another scenario,” I reply, tilting my head. 

“The first step to healing is accepting the problem.” 

“Who in the world taught you that?”

“My Healer. Former Healer, I guess,” she says, raising her eyebrows at me, as if challenging me to give her an answer. 

“Well, she’s wrong. I can see now why you sacked her.” 

“I did not--” 

“Be as it may, I’m here now, so we might as well give it a try instead of arguing,” I interject her--all of her complaints and shrieks were nothing but an attempt to make me lose sight of the goal here and make me give up before actually trying, I can tell. 

Upon my vehemence she seems to understand she's bound to lose the argument, finally, and gives in. With another deep sigh she leans against the wall, crossing her hands over her stomach, avoiding my eye--I just know she's partially pissed off at me because I was right. I try not to gloat as she settles as comfortable as it gets, predicting what I'll be asking her soon enough. 

I don’t ask her right away. I know she needs to be in the appropriate mindset for the task ahead, so I give her time to relax and prepare, not speaking up for several minutes. And then I try to keep my voice low, mellow, sweet, always holding Nancy’s hand to let her know she’s not alone and that she can count on me. 

“Okay. Let’s pretend for a second you’ve just been inserted into--” 

“We’ve already tried this. Hundreds of times,” Nancy interjects me. 

“Let’s try it again,” I suggest after taking a very deep breath in an attempt not to snap at her. “So, you have just been inserted into a human’s Host. Your last world was--” 

“The Dragon’s World,” she provides. 

“You’re trying to adapt from a world where you could soar the skies and chase each other all day long. Where you were able to keep on living without nearly consuming any nutrients for days on end. Where you were born from the ashes of your own mother,” I keep going, extracting everything I can come up with concerning the Fire World. “This new Host takes up to two hundred and fifty-six of your connections. You’ve the sense of smell, hearing, sight, taste. Touch--senses in every inch of your body.” 

My experiment, because it's nothing but, seems to be working, at least for now. I see Nancy spreading her arms, moving each of her fingers to scrape the sheets under her--the same way she acted when she woke up inside Nancy's head, my same actions when I came into Mel's. 

“You don’t feel any pain, nor hunger. The insertion was a success and you’re just trying to acclimate and figure out this new Host. You’re trying all of your new senses, memories and experiences. Now--what’s your first thought?” 

“Her last,” she says, restraint voice. The last thought is always the hardest. 

“Remember that you’re safe and sound, that that memory doesn’t belong to you, that you are not that person,” I tell her before she suffers a panic attack. I wait until she nods, grabbing my hand tightly. “Now, what’s that thought?” 

“Fear. Desperation. Nihilism,” Nancy recalls. “She was taken. She was found by a group of Seekers and she--tried to fight them.” 

Nancy shuts her hands in fists, trembling with a mixture of rage, coming from the human's mere memories, and fear from feeling such a horrid thing. I force her to open her hands, finger by finger, and let her grab mine instead. 

“Okay. Where did they find her? Where had she been hiding?”

“She had been living in an abandoned warehouse out in Iowa, Wisconsin.” 

“All alone?” 

All these questions resemble a bit too much the ones she and I were asked by the Seekers upon being inserted into a human rebel’s body, I do know that. Being the one to raise such questions only makes matters worse--brings goosebumps all over my arms and back. This is a line of questioning that many people--Souls--would qualify as inhuman, disproportionate and inappropriate in every way. And I'd agree. But I‘ve been assured by multiple Healers and Comforters that this, starting at the beginning--or otherwise said, the ending--and going back from there is probably one of the most successful methods so far discovered. Since I'm no expert in the matter nor I pretend to be, I chose to have trust and believe them. 

Choosing is not the same as going through with it, however. Throughout the experimental interrogation I'm this close to putting a stop to it upon seeing, time after time, Nancy's painful expressions. I can't bear it anymore than she can--but somehow we keep going nonetheless, question after question, rewriting again Nancy's former life up to the moment where we invaded her Planet. 

At some points Nancy can't handle it anymore and I keep quiet for a while, stopping my questions for several minutes until she's up to keep going again, and I press her a bit more so long she can bear the emotional toll. I can't really blame her when she falls asleep suddenly, drained of all energy. 

I run my hands through my hair, knowing we're nowhere close to the end of the experiment yet, and stare longingly at Nancy. She's going through so much for the sake of this female human. If she knew the embarrassment I was put through yesterday, I wonder if she'd accepted my help so gladly. I have failed humanity, whereas she's still fighting. 

Lost in my thoughts about human life, our purpose here on Earth and our prospects of future, takes me a long of time to realize I’m not alone in the room--I couldn’t tell when Ian came around, but it seems he’s been here for a while now, judging by his stand against the door. 

I lean against the chair and rub my hands on the trousers, flashing a shy smile due to being somewhat caught off guard, even if it's just Ian. 

He steps in, carrying a glass and pouring me some water. I reach for the glass but don't take a single sip, resting it on the bedside table instead. Ian, ever so carefully, sits on the bed to be as close as me as possible given the circumstances. He rests a hand on my knee and I'm physically unable not to grab it back and tangle my fingers with his. 

“How’s it going?” he asks in a whisper, looking at Nancy above his shoulder. 

“Slowly,” I say with a smile--the answer has to ring a bell. “It’s going to take a while. That is, if we manage to get some results.” 

Ian shakes my hand and scoops down the bed to sit on the floor, between my legs--almost eye-level with me, to make his words really sink in.

“Hey. Whatever progress you make, it’s going to be very great news,” he promises. 

My eyes fall down to Nancy. Her words still echo in my head--I can lie to her, not so much to myself or Ian. What if Nancy has really died? What if, albeit all our efforts, her conscience cannot return at all? Will she be able to keep living with such a toll? Could I ever? 

“Hey,” Ian calls me out and I go back at looking at him. “You know you’ve worked just as much as her, or any other Soul in this building, this city, this State and this damned country. You’ve done everything in your power to help humans--as a matter of fact you’ve done way more than was asked from you to start with. So don’t feel guilty, not for a second. You understand?”

He sees I try to listen and accept his words--which results in nothing but an attempt. He notices and sighs deeply, dropping his head to my knees as if holding himself from telling me off. In the meantime he scrapes my legs with his fingertips, almost casually--but it seems he can tell the effect he has on me. 

“Why don’t you give it a rest too?” he suggests then, raising his head, in a totally different subject from the one I feared. 

Before I answer, I look back at Nancy, finally, blissfully sleeping--I just wish she isn't suffering from nightmares thanks to me. Regardless of how exhausted or emotionally drained I might be, I daren’t leave her alone. 

“Come on,” Ian presses, standing abruptly and pulling me up with him. He doesn’t even let me complain as he drags me out of the bedroom, although I can’t really stop him while keeping a low voice in order not to wake poor Nancy, who right now deserves all the rest she can muster. 

Some feet from the chair I was in there’s something else that baffles and leaves me speechless long enough to forget my little quarrel with Ian: getting out of the bedroom literally felt like stepping into another world of sorts. Now that the rubbish is all gone, that the blinds aren’t drawn anymore and that clear, fresh air had the chance to run through the apartment, it’s a completely different place. For some reason I check my watch and realize in fright that I’ve spent four hours inside of that bedroom: I’ve spent nearly two hundred and forty minutes torturing a poor Soul who didn’t deserve a harsher punishment than the one she’s putting herself through. 

I sigh deeply, dropping my arm. I cannot take it back now either way. 

“Change of guard?” says Mel, approaching with a tired smile. 

“She’s resting,” I inform, “but yeah, keep an eye on her, please.” 

“Of course,” promises her, caressing my arm. “You two can leave now, if you want to. We’ll call you if there’s any improvements.” 

Although she had her hand on my shoulder, she talked addressing Ian and only looking at him, to make sure that he’s taking me away from this apartment. I don’t put up that much of a fight--now that Nancy’s finally sleeping, I have other preoccupations. After all, everyone got the same training from the Healer as I did, so whatever I thought I could do, they’re all just as able to do it as I am. I nod as a farewell while Ian drags me out of the apartment. 

He also tries to coax me towards the elevator, but that’s where I draw the line. I just stop walking in the middle of the corridor, in front of the door marked with a C. Since Ian doesn’t say a thing he must understand and accept what I’m about to do--and I just ring the bell while he stands behind me, arms crossed in defeat. 

Immediately after the bell, a yell erupts from the inside, the tenant promising they’ll answer the door in just a second. Ian sighs deeply, the air blowing my hair, and has the energy to utter a single sentence. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” 

What I don’t have is the time to turn around and give him an answer. The door opens at that moment, a male appearing at the doorstep--the Soul still inserted. 

The smile he was receiving us with freezes when he recognizes us both. His eyes shift from me to Ian a few times, his mouth hanging open in the midst of a welcoming statement. I pull off a warm smile of my own and reach a hand out. 

“Morning. Sorry to disturb you, my name’s--” 

“Wanda, of course,” he interjects, shaking my hand, his eyes still moving from Ian to me. 

“I was in the area visiting a friend of mine and thought I could stop by to check on some of the neighbors,” I explain. “Is that alright with you?” 

“Yes. Certainly!” he says after a beat or two, stepping aside as to let Ian and I in. 

“Thank you,” Ian and I chime as we come inside. 

“Ian O’Shea,” he greets, shaking the man’s hand still hanging mid-air, as I shut the door behind us. “Nice to meet you.” 

“Yeah, you too. Name’s Felix--please, sit down.” 

“Felix?” I ask, clearly referring to the human’s given name. 

“The translation of my original name would be something along the lines of ‘tide vines’, but it really doesn’t do it justice,” shrugs Felix. “As rich and extensive human language is, it really cannot grasp the complexity of other worlds.” 

“That, it cannot,” I confirm. He’s not the first one to complain about that. 

About half an hour later, after tea, biscuits and a depth-in chat with Felix, we leave his apartment, me feeling just a little bit better. But there’s still apartment B, and there are more floors to cover too. Not wishing to make me angry, but at the same time wishing I’d drop this new project of mine too, Ian stands by my side and follows me into each of those apartments, putting up his own façade when meeting the tenants--later, he looks equally impressed and interested in all the conversations we hold with them. Souls or humans, there’s a story behind all of their lives. 

A human has just returned from her mission and visits regularly her parents at the Healing Center downtown. There’s a Soul who’s spending day in and day out with a Healer trying to unlock the human’s past, and has already changed homes three or four times, depending on what the memories bring. A human who’s just got his body back and, being checked upon every day by his Healer, is trying to bring back his knowledge and prowess with the violin--he offers us a small concert, until his fingers start cramping up and has to quit. Another Soul, who might as well leave already since the human’s conscience never really vanished, just like Mel and I, has decided to stay behind until the human’s family appears too, in order not to leave Alex all alone in this world. 

Ian does put a stop to it all when lunch time comes, dragging me out of the building and into the dim light of the sun, handing me back my jacket and taking me back to that one cafeteria across the street. Jamie comes to meet us, sent by Mel and Jared, since three people aren’t really necessary to take care of someone asleep. 

I cannot be sure, but we order if not the same, a very similar meal than the one we all ate that day, few months back. Difference is, we’re not nearly as happy and relaxed as we were back then, and we’re also missing Nick’s presence, which might have lighten up the mood a bit. Since we haven’t had a real conversation in a couple of days, we slowly fall back into an uncomfortable silence, bearable only because we have the distraction of the food in our dishes. But as we come to finish our food, no other distractions come up and we all turn our heads to the street. Very few people dare to fight the cold on this day without a sun to relatively keep us warm--and soon enough, our eyes shift to the buildings on the street where humans and Souls are living. Unless they’re all out there on the missions to find humans, or locked up in Recovery Centers trying to unlock a human’s memories and conscience, or on their way to some far away Planet. On our way to check the different apartments on Nancy’s building, some of them were empty. 

“Why are you doing this, Wanda?” asks Ian from the other side of the booth. 

I sigh deeply, dropping my eyes, arms crossed in a clearly defensive pose. It’s no surprise that his thoughts have evolved concurrently to my own. 

“Ask me anything else,” I beg of him. 

Tilting his head, Ian doesn’t even think before throwing his second question at me. 

“When will you stop putting yourself through this?” he demands. 

Under both Ian’s and Jamie’s stares, I deflate. I did allow Ian to keep hammering me with his questions, and I don’t even have the right to feel hurt or annoyed by his insistence. Knowing at least I owe them an answer, I try to unscramble the mess that is my head right now. Holding onto the smoothie cup in my hands, I give it my best shot. I know better than to accuse Ian and the rest for withholding information from me--that’s not the main reason why I’m doing this, and bringing it up again would just be the perfect idea to uselessly start quarreling again. 

On the TV, where once upon a time Jeb showed up, are now playing messages for humans in hiding, although the chances of any survivors seeing and hearing them from here are, to say the least, pretty slim. 

“Isn’t it the right thing to do? I sent all those Souls away.” I know Ian’s also making an effort to offer me a window upon him not interrupting me by saying that I didn’t scare anyone away, or something along those lines. “Things are changing, maybe a bit too fast for some, like Nancy. . . I just want to make sure that everyone’s settling properly. We don’t know if the tenants of this building, or that one down there, have assigned Healers, or at least a family member for support and encouragement. . . Just feel like I should be checking up on them.” 

In front of me, Ian just nods--which is more understanding that I thought I’d get, even from the man who’s always been by my side and has never judged me for my fears or my actions. 

“So you plan on checking on the seven billion people inhabiting the Earth?” he asks. 

I chuckle nervously. Although I can tell he wasn’t mocking or criticizing me, just trying to lay all the cards on the table, that’s a fair enough question. Jamie, misinterpreting my reaction, confirms so. 

“He’s got a point, Wanda,” he says, head tilted. “All seven continents on Earth, with their two-hundred and four countries? Are you going to enroll on the Linguistic Society of America before or after your trip?” 

“Okay, I don’t think I really need to visit the scientists living in the Antarctica,” I snicker, but our mood is better now--Jamie planned on making me laugh and he chuckles too. 

“Are you sure? Your actions and decisions did change their lives too,” Ian points out. 

“I think the penguins and the elephant seals and the snow petrels from the South Pole are doing alright despite my meddling,” I reply, prompting some more chuckles from the three of us. “Plus, I’ve had my fair share of cold temperatures in all my lives, including the Earth, so yes, I’m going to decline the offer.” 

“Come on, you had way lower temperatures in the Mists Planet,” says Jamie. 

“Perhaps, but that doesn’t mean I miss it. Plus, our Hosts were better prepared than humans to handle such low temperatures for long periods of time. Here the only thing you can do is put on a thousand pieces of clothing and look like the Loch Ness Monster every time you step outside.” 

This time we all burst out laughing at my hyperbole, to the point we almost spill our drinks on the table and the floor. Well, this is what a family looks like indeed--our humor can change from awful to light-hearted in just a few seconds. That’s why we can return to the original subject with better mindset, and I’m ready to admit that I don’t really have a five-year plan concerning the Earth’s future, humanity and my own life. 

“I don’t think I have a five-day plan,” I confess in the end. 

Ian extends his arm over the table so he can grab my hand, while Jamie, who’s come to sit by my side, just nudges me with his shoulder. The meaning is clear: plan or no plan, whatever happens in the imminent future is going to involve all of us staying together as a family. I nod to show that I understand and accept it, but--is what they’re suggesting plausible at all? For me, for them, for the rest of our family? Can we pull it off? 

Feeling better after eating and talking it through, when we leave the diner we meant to head for a new building--I was just about to allow Ian to choose where to go next--when we receive notice from Mel and Jared that Nancy’s woken up and doing some progresses. So we climb up back to her apartment to give her a hand, even though three’s a crowd. 

To use the word progress would be stretching things a bit too far. It is indeed true that Nancy’s recovering some tiny bits of information from her human counterpart, but there’s still a long way to go for her. We spend the whole afternoon with her, taking turns and all the necessary breaks to make sure Nancy doesn’t overextend herself, eats, drinks and rests properly, while working on her memories. At the end of the day, when we say our goodbyes and head home, we’re nearly as tired as she is. We walk slowly, barely talking, and Ian’s got his arm around my shoulders to keep me on my two feet. 

After reading to Nick till he falls asleep and having dinner, however, I refuse to go to bed with Ian. Whereas Mel, Jared and Jamie all leave the apartment and head for their little, temporary place down the hall, and Nicholas and Ian also bid farewell for the night, I settle on the couch. I don’t turn on the TV nor grab a random book from the shelves; I just sit there, the camera still on its feet in the middle of the living room, almost like a relique no one dares to approach, much less touch, set there just to make fun of me. 

By nine o’clock, the apartment’s almost completely still and dark. Only the lit lamplight by my side fights the absolute darkness; and the silence is broken by the fainted echoing of the screens from the street, displaying 24/7 messages for humans in hiding. I have now the time and space to ponder--to think about Ian, Nick, Mel, Jamie, Nicholas, Jeb, every one of our family members from the caves. Before I know it, I’m holding the remote, press the button to turn on the camera and I’m speaking to no-one and everyone at the same time. 

“Hello to anyone watching and listening to this,” I start off. “First of all, I need to thank you. I realize that picking up this message and deciding to watch it was no easy task and took a lot of courage, so--thank you for giving it, giving me, a chance. 

“Now, if you don't mind me starting off like this, I’ve a favor to ask you. Rest easy, I’m not going to ask you to surrender and to report to the nearest authorities. No, it’s simpler than that. Much safer for you. I’d like you to spend five minutes today looking at the sky. And five more minutes tomorrow, and the day after, and so on. Perhaps you haven’t noticed it yet--but what you’ll see are spaceships. Just like the beginning of the invasion, you’ll say, and I won’t contradict you. There is, however, one striking difference: all those spaceships aren’t coming to stay, but to take Souls away from the Earth and off to other Planets. We are not occupying, we are leaving. 

“The proof, you say? I’m not going to give it to you because you would never believe me. Instead, you can find it by yourselves: just look in the eye of everyone you pass by. Don’t try to tell me you can’t blend in and do it, I happen to know you’re more than capable of doing so. And if you do, you’ll see that everyday there are more and more humans. And how can you tell the enemy from your family? Thanks to this,” I say pointing at my own eyes, whose gleam I see reflected on the camera lenses. “This is how to distinguish Souls from humans. You see, this is called retroreflection, which is a tissue found behind the retina of an animal’s eye. Humans don’t have this retroreflection, humans’ eyes cannot physically reflect any kind of light. But Souls eyes do, and that’s how you can determine that I’m telling you the truth: the percentage of people with these gleamy eyes is descending by the day. 

“Me in particular haven’t left, I’ll grant you that. Not yet, at least.” Since this message is going to be heard at long length all around the world by who knows how many people, I don’t dare to say the words on my mind. “I wanted to stay for a little while longer and oversee the project. See that people settled peacefully and appropriately. No Soul will harm another human again, and vice versa, Souls will not be harmed by a human again. That’s the pact that we made and both parties are willing to honor it. I give you my word. 

“I’m not going to ask you to come out of your shelters and join society, because with such a request, coming from a Soul, you might do the opposite just to spite me. So my only plea here is that you take a look around and see the truth for yourselves, hear what’s going on in the world. That way, maybe, you’ll understand and accept that we’re all telling the truth. You might have been hearing and seeing messages all around the shelter you’re in--they’re messages from real humans, people whose Souls have abandoned the Earth, people who’d been in hiding and have come out after hearing those same messages. Please, believe those testimonials. They’re not a trick, they’re not one last attempt by crazy Seekers to lure you out and kill you. They’re real messages from people who’re looking for their siblings, parents, children, aunts and other relatives. We, humans and Souls alike, just want to try to restore your lives, to go back to how things were before we invaded your Planet. 

“Please, hear my words carefully. I’m not asking you to trust in us blindingly, to believe everything I’ve said. I know that’s quite impossible. What was that catchphrase? Trust but verify? Well, you go and do that, please. You’ve got ways to verify all we’re saying. 

“I have one more thing to say, if you’ll allow me. And that is. . . I want to apologize. I am so terribly, infinitely sorry. Deeply, truly, from the bottom of my heart, if you can believe that we do have a heart. We are naturally a peaceful species. We came here to learn, to thrive, to help other communities. We’ve done so previously in other Planets without finding resistance or any signs of trouble. I know that’s no excuse, but the truth is, we didn’t realize until very recently the damage we’ve caused to your world. Ever since then we’ve been trying to fix it, remember those spaceships leaving filled with hundreds of us, but we do know that it might be too late for some. And we never meant it. We hate and abhor misery and pain and wouldn’t consciously inflict those in another species. So, I apologize. On behalf of all the Souls who ever came to the Earth and occupied a human host. We all want to apologize, because we know nothing we’ll ever do or say will fix things or make them better. And--”

By now I’m literally sobbing. I don’t think anyone could understand a single word of the last part of the speech, since I started my apologies, but still I wasn’t able to stop talking. Now, when I’m incapable of formulating a coherent thought, I press the button on the remote again to stop the recording and have time to think and calm down. I don’t wish to wake up the whole neighborhood with my cries. 

In the darkness of the living room, I try to control my whimpers and wipe the tears and snot off my face--all futile, replaced by new tears and more snot right away. I’m going to need some time to come down before I go to the bedroom; Ian will panic if he sees me like this. 

This is why, I realize now. I couldn’t say this before, not in front of Ian and our little family, much less in front of a bunch of strangers like the crew members. I couldn’t have such a breakdown and open up to any of them earlier. These are words I’ve been forbidden to utter in front of my family--they’ve never accepted my apologies nor remorse, and yet that’s what my heart ached for, those were the words I most desperately needed to say out loud. Apologize. To beg for forgiveness because of all the wrong and pain we--and I as an individual--have caused ever since we got here. 

“Why are you crying, Mommy?” asks a worried toddler voice by my side. Looking through my eyelashes I find Nick trying to jump up to the sofa without looking away from me, a strange wrinkle between his eyes that I wish I don’t ever have to see again, at least not caused because of me. “Are you sad?” 

“No, I could never be sad with you around, my beautiful boy,” I reply, sitting him on my lap. “Although I am mildly upset as to know what you’re doing out of bed.” 

The perpetrator isn't too far away; Ian didn't even try to hide, standing behind the couch. 

“Hey, I just thought you could use a hug,” he explains, offering me a tissue. “You barely spent any time with your son today.” 

“That is true,” I nod, wiping my tears off, trying to offer Nick a smile. If he woke up this late at night, when he’s usually long asleep, the least I can do is not worry him and be the mother he believes I am. Even when day after day I feel nothing but a fraud. 

“Do you want to go to sleep, honey?” I ask Nick, a very far-off chance, I know that. 

“No!” laughs the toddler. 

“Of course not,” chuckles Ian, messing with Nick’s hair as he goes around the couch, to let himself drop by my right. “No way we can get anything done before midday, what with him as tired as he’ll be.” 

“And whose fault is that?” I demand, rising an eyebrow at Ian, who shows his palms, clearly in defeat, before our attention returns to Nick. 

“Do you want to play some board game for a while, honey?” I ask. For now I’m just managing to distract him using the pillows, gently attacking Nick now and then, which makes him giggle in delight every time, but I do know I’m going to need much more than that to get him to sleep any time soon. By God, we’re terrible parents. Nick would be in no condition of attending school if this was a weekday. Which incidentally, it is--we’re on Thursday. 

“What about ‘Feed the monkey’?” 

“Mmm. . . No!”

Takes us a couple times and some bargaining but in the end we find a game that suits us all and set it on the coffee table. Since there’s no school tomorrow and we've got no impending obligations whatsoever, there’s nothing wrong with oversleeping once in a while. It is for a very good cause. 

“And all of you out there,” says Ian all of a sudden, making me jump. He’s addressing the camera and he’s holding the remote control, which I’d forgotten on the sofa, by my side. “Like she said earlier, humans don’t have retroreflection, so my son and I are, as you can see, both humans. This here, Wanderer, is my partner, the woman I’m in love with and the biological mother of my son. If this doesn’t convince you that things have changed, I don’t know what will. Please, come out to find us and meet us. We’re willing to talk about anything you need to talk about. There are more families like ours. We can change, forgive and love.” 

He then presses the button on the remote and that tiny red light on the camera turns off, proving that the recording tool has been switched off now. I am baffled as Ian throws the remote away, on the armchair, and rests against the sofa, rubbing my arm. But Nick demands my attention on the game and I have to play my part before uttering any questions. 

“When?” 

As he throws the dice once more, he just shrugs off the question. Does it really matter? By his words I can tell he could listen my speech from the beginning and that he woke Nick up and brought him here just for the show. More worrying, it means that he fully saw my nervous breakdown there in front of the camera. 

I’m this close to open my mouth to apologize--apologize for me apologizing--give some explanations, say anything at all that’ll make it better for the both of us when Ian casually bumps against my shoulder, a movement that cuts off any speeches I might have been preparing. In his eyes I see what I should have known I’d find if I’d dared to speak to him, to any of my family members, before the speech: mercy, understanding, sympathy and yes, a little bit of sadness, but only because I was unable to open up to those who trust me more than anything else. Not because they’re upset at me or hold grudges against me. 

Yes, of course he’s a bit upset about the subject of the speech, but now that we know where we stand we can start working on it and solving it, I know he’s telling me--that’s what I read in that finally relaxed position, in that warm smile he flashes at me. It tells me that, even if I can’t see it right now, everything’s going to be alright. 

Eventually. 

With a lot of working and hardship ahead. 

Sighing, I lean against Ian, sitting on my legs. He pinches me on the arm, almost gently, but also to jolt me awake; doesn’t matter how tired I might be due to the stress of the past few days--weeks--and my finally admitting my own feelings. I must stay awake and keep playing, for my son’s sake.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our family tries to slowly settle down in Denver and leave behind everything that's happened. 
> 
> There's a little bit of exposition about the Soul's world per Wanda's lectures, and there'll be more in the future chapters. I just think it's an amazing world Meyer set out and requires some explaining to the average human.

“Okay, next up: who’s this?” I ask, pointing at another set of stars on the T-shirt. 

“That’s Hercules!” answers Nick without a shred of doubt--he’s picking up on our stories amazingly fast, just like Jamie did back in the day. 

“And who was Hercules?” asks Ian, poking Nick’s side, making him giggle and squeal. 

“He was this hero from Greece,” explains the toddler afterwards. “He was like super, super strong, because he was son of the Gods, which made the Goddess Hera very, very angry, and that’s why she forced Hercules to do certain tasks. The constellation shows Hercules after fighting the Li--the Ligu--” 

“The Ligurians,” I finish for him, with a bright smile. In spite of a few mistakes, I cannot not praise our son for his answer and for his memory. We have all the time in the world to properly explain such an extensive tale of the Greek mythology, that’s for certain. 

But that will not be happening today, or at least, not right now--we’re out of time this morning. That’s kind of what Ian and I have been planning since we left home, keeping us and Nick busy with questions about Ancient Greece, hence the T-shirt he’s wearing that shows multiple constellations visible from Earth. More than distracting Nick, however, it was all a means to distracting Ian and myself from what we’re about to do. 

While Ian and Nick keep on ranting about Hercules, I ring on the bell. A woman comes to the door way too soon, with a broad smile, greeting the three of us by our names and allows us entrance into the warmth of the day care. 

As we take off our coats and scarfs we judge that there must be at least half a dozen kids in here already--in some of the rooms further down the hallway, I gather. For now, the woman who’s opened the door has introduced herself as the principal of the day care and is now knelt on the floor to gently welcome Nick in. 

Another worker shows up with that same polite and broad smile, shakes hands with me and Ian and then bends on the waist to greet Nick too. 

“Can I show you the place?” she asks. 

Of course, no one had expected a ‘No’ for an answer, and Nick doesn’t disappoint this time either. Grabbing Dinah by the hand, the two of them head inside, to all the screaming and rattle, perhaps without understanding. Then the principal turns towards us and bursts out: 

“There, there, there’s no reason for crying!” she exclaims, almost on the edge of laughing. 

“I’m sorry,” I apologize, wiping the tears off my eyes until I’m handed a tissue by Ian--who’s got another one on his left hand. 

“It’s not the end of the world, I promise you,” insists Michelle, hugging me briefly. “Come on, I’ll show you the facilities and introduce you to the rest of the staff. Follow me, please.” 

We do as she says and we shake hands with at least two dozen workers on our tour throughout the daycare, but in all honesty I have a hard time remembering any of those names--it’s already too much for just the first day. 

I’m just satisfied by seeing that half the staff are Souls, whose kindness and peacefulness is perfectly matched by their coworkers--this is perhaps one of the only places in the world where humans must show the same values of patience and courtesy as Souls--but, after all, choosing a daycare with at least one Soul amongst their staff was a firm requisite from my part. Who else but a Soul could teach my son about our most intrinsic beliefs and values? About sharing, peacefulness, compassion, mercy, righteousness, fidelity, sincerity? Luckily, Ian thought the same and this didn’t turn out to be a deal-breaker between us where our son’s education’s concerned. Which would have reflected badly, since we haven’t been that focused on his education so far to begin with. 

Oh, who am I kidding, I want to scowl as I bite my lower lip. Yes, all of the above are fair and reasonable points, but of course I wanted to be with Nick until the very last minute, that’s why both of us, Ian and I, wanted to drop him off together today. Even if he’s already playing hide and seek with some of the other toddlers, and I knew he’d have no trouble meeting children his age and play with them, I had to see for myself that he’d be alright. 

“I promise you we’ll take good care of your son,” promises Michelle then, after following my gaze and seeing Nick. “Do you trust us?” 

“Yes, of course,” Ian promises immediately--there’s no way we could not trust a Soul. 

“Then try to relax and enjoy your free day,” insists the principal. With a wave of her hand she invites us out of the room and, reluctantly, peeking above our shoulders, we leave--better to do it now before Nick understands we’re leaving him behind. 

We manage to keep it together while we say goodbye to the caretakers and thank them for their hard work. As soon as we step outside, however, the waterfalls strike and I hold tightly into Ian, until we realize we need to stop for a minute or two. We choose a nearby park and sit on the first empty bench we see and just drop there, a bit embarrassed by the show. 

This is, after all, the first time we’ve voluntarily been apart from our child since he was born. We left him for my classes at College, which were a moral obligation for me and practically for Ian too. After we reunited, we were separated when I got shot and when I was kidnapped by Ian’s father’s peers and then by the human cell we were tracking. There was that one time where I left the camp and consequently my son, but Ian did too and we both decided to rule that one out. 

Either way, looking for a daycare for Nick to start having a proper education is the first time he’s been away of us not for a force of nature, but because of our decision. And it’s harder than I’d thought it’d be. 

“We’re a mess,” I chuckle as Ian hands me a second tissue. 

“We’re first-time parents, I think that’s self-explanatory,” replies Ian. 

This is also one of the reasons why I wanted to do this alone with just Ian and refused Nicholas, Jamie, Mel and even Jared’s proposal to joining us this morning. We preferred to avoid all the mockery and cutting remarks. 

Unfortunately, it all comes later, when we get home teary-eyed and later than they’d foreseen, which makes them all just burst out laughing at our expense. Repeating sentences we’ve already heard a dozen times, such as that Nick will have a great time at the daycare, that it’s good for him to spend time with children his age and to learn how to play with others and share toys, that it’s good for him to be away from the supervision and somewhat overprotection of his family, that it’s good for us to spend time away from our son, that no harm can possibly come to Nick. . . Ian and I are this close to leave the apartment again, but sit through it all while watching the TV and, sooner than we’d expected, it’s already time to set the table for lunch. 

“How’re you doing?” asks Mel after we’ve started eating, not as malice in her tone as I’d feared. What with leaving Nick at the day care, she does know she can set us off again with ease, and was just asking for an honest response.  
   
“I think we’re doing fine,” I say after checking briefly with Ian.  
   
Before us, Jared hides a chuckle with eating a spoonful of his soup, his head dropped so we don’t see his sarcastic smile. I refrain from rolling my eyes and give him a sarcastic response, a milestone given my emotional state, so I’m not really surprised upon Ian kicking Jared’s leg under the table--and the painful groan that escapes Jared’s lips makes me smile untimely.  
   
“We’re alright now,” I promise.  
   
“You’re saying this because it’s just a few more hours till you see Nick again, don’t you?” guesses Jamie, with an uncanny correct deduction.  
   
“You shut up,” I beg of him, drinking another sip of water.  
   
Before the conversation lingers further with arguments that have come up one too many times now the bell chimes. Eyebrows frowned, we all raise our heads and stare at the door for some very long seconds, the hair on my neck rising--if it was any member of our family they’d have called in advanced. Unexpected visitors, I’ve learnt, could mean very bad news. I’d be surprised if it were members of Congress again; I have been keeping up with the news these past few days and we haven’t heard anything worth a visit from the highest political institution in the country. I bloody well know my family isn’t keeping anything from me anymore. 

Nicholas, more calm and at ease that I’d expect him to be, seated closest to the door, leaves his napkin on the table and stands to answer the door.  
   
Three men, all humans, wait at the other side. For some long seconds there’s plain silence and astonishment from us, still seated on the table, and from the three visitors, waiting at the doorstep. Since the three men don’t recognize Nicholas they look around the living room, scanning everyone present, till their eyes lock with Jareds’.  
   
“No freaking way,” he says, carefully laying the glass of water back on the table. He stands very slowly, pulling the chair away and letting the napkin fall on the floor, heading for the door. 

Nicholas takes one step back as to let Jared meet the visitors, surprise in his eyes too. The astonishment and silence doesn’t last much longer as bursts of laughter and tears of joy erupt amongst Jared and the visitors, while Jared hugs each of those men in turn, patting their shoulders, eyeing each other from head to toes with amazement.  
   
The rest of us just stay there without moving, Nicholas still holding the door open, exchanging some surprised and confused glances. We’re all smiling too upon the display of joy at our doorstep, unable not to appreciate happiness these days, though we would like explanations.  
   
Mel, on the other hand, she’s got a funny look in her eyes--teary, and in awe.  
   
“No way,” she utters, echoing Jared’s first words, as she stands too.  
   
“Mel? Some answers, please?” I beg in a whisper.< /p>

“They’re Jared’s brothers,” she says, which makes my head spin back to those three men. They look nothing like Jared’s tanned skin, athletic and muscular body. If Mel was destined to fall in love with a descendant of the Howe family, she was lucky Jared was the first brother she met.  
   
“You sure?” asks Ian in astonishment.  
   
Mel can do nothing but roll her eyes--she’s just too far away for stepping on Ian’s foot now and pay him back for hurting Jared first.  
   
“Let’s just postpone the making fun of family members until we’re at least introduced, shall we?” she suggests, cold voice.  
   
“Certainly,” nods Ian, too eager to be on Mel’s good side.  
   
Forgetting our lunch, we all go to receive Jared’s brothers at the door. They’re still hugging it out and having a reunion of sorts, already exchanging stories and good-willed jokes, proving indeed that they’re indeed human siblings, without thinking about including the other people present.  
   
“My God, Frankie, how is it possible that after ten years spent in hiding, you still manage to be fat?” Jared demands one of his brothers.

“Genes,” simply says the man, shrugging.    
   
“What in the world!” explodes Jared again, and then he sets off a string of questions, throwing them so fast that none of his brothers are able to cut him off, much less give an answer. He’s still got his arms around one of his brothers, the tallest and skinniest one out of the four, with a funny brow ridge. “How on earth did you survive? Have you heard from Dad? Where have you been hiding? When did you come out? Wait--did you hear my message? Is that why you came out?”  
   
“Bro, we’re also happy to see you, but calm down,” begs one of them, with freckles and military-shaved hair.  
   
“Sorry, sorry,” chuckles Jared, taking one step backward and dropping his arms.  
   
“We didn’t hear your message until we were staying at the Recovering Center,” adds a second one, Frankie, who seems to have permanent dimples on his cheeks, what with the way he’s smiling at Jared. “And thank God for that, because hearing your speech would have given us more reasons to stay in hiding longer.”  
   
“It’s great to see our efforts are paying off,” sighs Ian, hands on the waist. I chuckle and softly hit him in the arm--we must believe the messages will work. Because slowly, all missions are coming to an end, their expeditionaries returning home as they found no traces of humans and saw, on the other hand, the dangers of such a long-time adventure. For now there’s little else we can do, so I simply refuse to feel remorse or guilty over the lack of work. It has to be enough, for the time being. We’ve already scheduled new meetings with Council in a few weeks’ time to ponder and consider what’s the next step.

“We’ve been hiding out in the National Park of the Great Smoky Mountains,” we hear them saying and we immediately turn our attention back to the Howe siblings. “We got there like--two years ago? We found a bear’s cave and lived in there for some months until we pocketed an old man’s hut in the woods.”  
   
“A bear cave?” demands Jared, nearly as astonished by those words as the rest of us. “Did you kill him off with your own hands, Brandon?”

“Nothing of that sort,” scoffs the man with the funny brow ridge, Brandon. “We were on the lookout for days and saw no signs of bears. We never had to fight off a freaking bear, so we settled.”  
   
“What about the old man?” presses Jared.  
   
“He left voluntarily,” promises Frankie. “One day there were some visitors to see the old man and within some ours, they all jumped into their cars and left to never be seen again. He only took a traveling bag and did not return.”  
   
“Not once,” adds the man with the military haircut. “Not even to check on the house.”  
   
“He probably had a Soul inserted,” I reckon, “and decided to live in the city, in a community.”  
   
The words attract the attention of the three Howe siblings, from Jared to me. I start sweating as their stares change, sinking me in. I really should have bitten my tongue. I’ve had my share of bad experiences concerning humans who still hadn’t had their integration into this new world, where Souls and humans coexist peacefully. Ian, just in case, takes one step forward to be a little bit in front of me, to have space and time to react if I were to find myself in distress. Mel stiffens by my side--I’m guessing she’d have a hard time believing Jared’s siblings would attack me--and even Nicholas, still holding the door open for the Howe siblings, has a frown between his eyes. I think even Jamie would act should any harm or danger come to me, though on that case, I would step forward before he was harmed in any way. Of course.  
   
Long gone is the funny and joyful atmosphere from two seconds ago, when Jared was catching up with his brothers. I swear to my ancestors that the temperature’s dropped twenty degrees in barely five milliseconds.  
   
“Wanderer?” asks the military-shaved brother.  
   
Oh, great. Not only do they fear me for being a Soul, but they know all about me, certainly because the workers at the Recovering Center talked to them about me, maybe showed them my recorded message. I’m starting to regret overcoming my fears and being able to finally record it. The way Jared’s siblings are looking at me, I almost take one step backwards in order to avoid the confrontation that I know it’s coming--but I don’t, out of spite. I won’t show them I fear them.  
   
Brandon steps forward to stand directly in front of me and raises his right hand. He doesn’t give me the time to feel menaced and let my scarce first instincts act to flinch and move away; his hand hangs mid-air, leaving a respectful distance between us, letting me choose to shake it or not.  
   
“Thank you,” he whispers, the last two words I thought I’d hear from them.  
   
“You don’t need--”  
   
I don’t get the chance to finish the sentence either. Frankie, the brother with the dimples, which still haven’t vanished even though he’s all serious now, steps forward and also reaches out his hand.  
   
“We were explained everything,” he says. “Back at the Recovering Center. So, yeah--thank you.”  
   
“Sammy,” scowls Brandon, glaring over his shoulder at the third brother who hasn’t stepped forward or reached out his hand. But he needn’t reprimand him for not following his siblings’ suit--the gratitude is plain clear in his eyes as well, no words are really needed.  
   
I speak before he tries to force out the words he cannot utter.  
   
“As I was trying to say--you don’t need to thank me,” I reply politely, only a whisper, as if that’s going to help me not to burst out crying. “It is me who thanks you for being strong and brave enough to get out of your shelter, find us Souls and give us a chance to explain. So yeah, we should be the ones showing gratitude.”  
   
“No, really--”

“Here’s an idea,” Nicholas interjects, with a warm smile. “It seems we’ve all got a lot to be thankful for and a whole lot more to catch up on, but why don’t we just skip this bit until we’re, at least, all introduced?”

We all chuckle, a bit embarrassed. In the midst of a family reunion like this one, with all the Howes, Nicholas Senior is the only person amongst five grown-ups--we can pardon Jared for forgetting social manners today--who’s remembered the proper social forms. Jared steps forward the first, to stand between his brothers and the rest of us to introduce all of us.

“Everyone,” says Jared after clearing his throat, “these are my brothers: Sammy, Frankie and Brandon. Guys, you already know Wanderer--this here is her partner, Ian O’Shea, and this is her father-in-law, Nicholas O’Shea. On the other hand, of course, we’ve got Melanie Stryder, my beautiful partner, and Jamie, his little brother.”

“Nice to meet you,” varying formulas of greetings are exchanged from the Howes and the rest of us at the same time, shaking hands. But we are members of one family all in all.  
   
“A _girlfriend?_ ” explodes Brandon then, eyeing Jared with a mixture of awe and incredulity. “When did you have time to get a freaking girlfriend in the midst of the Apocalypse, dude?”  
   
“Miracles happen,” shrugs Jared, exchanging one loving, longing look with Mel.  
   
Although Jared’s brothers would fear one awkward and a bit too melodramatic exchange between the couple, they should know that Mel’s not one to make lovely dopey heart eyes with her boyfriend--not for long, that is.  
   
“We’d rather you used the term partner, if you don’t mind,” she says.  
   
For some reason her words cause an uncomfortable and strange silence amongst all of us, as we all stare after each other in an attempt to figure out what to say and do next. This time Jared saves all of us as he heads for the dining table, pulling up a couple extra chairs.   
   
“Well, come on, have a seat,” he offers, pointing at the table. “Are you hungry?”  
   
“We ate on the plane, thank you,” dismisses Brandon, although he doesn’t refuse the seat he’s offered, as we all sit around the table.  
   
“How _was_ the flight from Tennessee?” asks Jared, slightly amused.  
   
“Terrifying,” confesses Samuel, prompting the first good-natured laughter amongst all of us, understanding.  
   
“We’ve accepted a lot in the past few weeks, and granted, a lot of it is great, but those things are just too frightening,” adds Brandon.  
   
Ian, as he grabs my hand and caresses my knuckles, sends me a knowing look by the corner of his eye--as if saying, he’s not the only one scared out of his mind because of those flying things. I just stick my tongue out at him and focus back on the conversation.  
   
“You’ve been at a Recovery Center for three weeks now and you didn’t think about letting your family know?” demands Jared now, making me tense a little bit. A couple weeks seem like a reasonable amount of time to me. Can’t Jared see how difficult this whole situation is to all the humans coming out of their hideaways, how difficult it was for his brothers to cope and come to terms with it all? Can’t he understand that his brothers being here, right now, in this living room, sitting with someone like me with my gleamy eyes, is almost more of a miracle than he and Mel meeting by chance all that time ago?  
   
Frankie’s answer makes all of us relax again.  
   
“Yeah, well, we didn’t want to miss your stupid face when you answered the door,” he snickers, “and what fun would that be?”  
   
“It’s nice to see that you haven’t changed,” scowls Jared with a roll of eyes.  
   
“The same could be said about you, little brother,” says Sammie, tilting his head to one side.  
   
“I’m not so sure about that,” replies Brandon, looking at Jared with evaluating eyes that would certainly make me uneasy. “The little prat we used to know could never have gotten a girlfriend. It seems all he needed was the end of the world.”  
   
“Look who’s talking, you never had a girlfriend till you were twenty,” scowls Jared, but the smile on his lips leads me to believe they’re just joking. “A relationship that lasted, what, half a month, tops?”  
   
“And you’re not going to tell me you two are together merely due to the desperation the Apocalypse brought, and the overexcitement over having our Planet back,” replies Brandon, pointing at Jared and Mel with his finger. “Did he follow you or something?”  
   
“Incidentally, he did, although not in the way you’re thinking,” concedes Mel, with a shy smile, looking sideways at Jared--I chuckle too, since I lived that experience first-hand through Mel’s memory. “When we met, I thought Jared was another Soul--and vice versa. We both acted accordingly, of course.”  
   
“What with a face like his, I can understand why you’d think he was an alien,” nods Sammie, as if Mel’s words were confirming a long belief. I’m having a hard time understanding all this bickering, and I know Mel is going through the same thing--why are they picking so much on Jared, especially on his physique? He’s not bad-looking, rather the opposite, really.  
   
I nearly choke when I realize my line of thinking, and to cover appearances--and my own ass too--I reach out to grab Ian’s hand. He caresses my knuckles absentmindedly.  
   
“Please, please tell me you took advantage of the situation and kicked his ass,” Frankie proceeds, sounding funnily excited and interested should Mel have harmed his brother in any possible way.  
   
I tilt my head towards Mel and Jared, suppressing the smile off my lips--and allow the subjects of the story to give the answer to Frankie’s question. Mel and Jared exchange one funny look and can’t stop themselves from bursting out laughing.  
   
“I kinda did,” confesses Mel, grabbing Jared’s hand as if to ask for forgiveness or to make the memory of the pain go away.  
   
“Yes!” celebrates Sammie, clapping, amongst other celebrations coming from his siblings.  
   
“On my defense I’ll say that I got in a punch or two,” replies Jared, which only gets his brothers, and honestly the rest of us, to laugh harder, in the midst of demanding how chivalrous could Jared possibly be after hitting a woman, years younger than he is.

“We were fighting for our lives, back then, you know,” Mel comes to Jared’s defense, and although it still doesn’t do good with any of us in order to keep straight faces and being able to settle down. 

“It’s undeniable that you’ve turned this world upside down,” nods Frank then, pointing his head at me, although I realize he does mean my entire species. “We were told our shared history and how things work now at great length, thank you very much, but it’s still strange to see all the things that have changed. I mean, no Government? Who thought that’d be a good idea?” 

“We all hold power and every voice is heard,” I say. “That way everyone has a say in the matters that trouble and concern us, and when a decision is made, we know it’s made unanimously and for the greater good.” 

The three brothers squirt their eyes at me, while Jared, Jamie, Mel, Ian and even Nicholas Senior sigh deeply and drop their heads, not exactly tired or bothered by the subject at hand. They’ve all heard of this all before from my many lectures. I don’t know if they’re tired of it all or if it’s really possible for them to still be interested in the many differences our societies hold. 

“And what about having no currency?” asks Sam. “How does that even work?” 

“How can you step into a grocery store, buy food for a whole week, and leave without paying?” adds Brandon. 

“Just forget the concept of buying,” I suggest, “and paying too. It’s just a matter of taking and giving in return. Primitive societies in humankind history, thousands of years ago, lived based on trading exchanges, such as tools, animals, foods or even stories or ideas--nothing else.” 

“That was before currency was invented,” Mel points out, as if this was one of our lessons back in College or, even further back, the caves. 

“Well, as you can see for yourselves, currency pretty much destroyed and overcomplicated things unnecessarily,” I reply. “With it came the concept of wealth and poverty, debt and taxes and, in one word, people whose eighteen-hour-day job couldn’t sustain a basic way of living. Also, he who had more money had a make-believe control and power over those who didn’t. And with the existing status, economical crisis every few decades where thousands of people lost their jobs and houses were considered, well, normal and cyclic. Getting rid of currency improved people’s lifestyles. How we did that, you may ask? By discarding different economical statuses, taxation, banks, ownership and, yes, to a certain degree, also savings.” 

“No, but truly--how and when did you become communists?” 

“We’re not communists,” I reply, my eyebrows frowned. Of course, I’ve heard the term multiple times, and though I’ve heard Souls’ society being compared to communism before too, I still see no resemblance. “Nothing is ‘borrowed’ from the State, because there’s no State per se, and we don’t borrow, but we share. We all produce what we need to live so we just take what we need, knowing it’ll be stacked back in time. That is all.” 

“But what about personal worth? How can a brain surgeon live with himself knowing that a simple janitor owns and is paid exactly the same as he is?” 

“That’s not merely personal worth, but egotism and uncalled self-importance. In a society where everyone is equal, we don’t value someone more because of their profession, just as we don’t discriminate against race, ideology or skin color. Plus, a brain surgeon? Why would we need a brain surgeon to start with?” 

“Well, for surgeries, duh,” scowls Brandon, without stopping for a second to think. 

“Brain tumors and such,” Frank keeps going, not as certain as his sibling, and he looks over Jared with frowned eyebrows, grasping something’s off but not being able to put a finger on it. It’s Sam the one who pieces it all together, closing his eyes and sighing deeply. 

“You cured cancer, didn’t you,” he says, more the statement of a fact. 

“Not as much as cured them, but treated the illness altogether,” I reply politely, uncertain of what piece of news might snap them in the end. “We live healthy lives, we don’t get sick. So there’s no cancer.” 

“You’re telling me you don’t get sick ever? At all? Not even a common flu?” 

“No, people do get sick now and then, of course. Everyone’s suffered a migraine, kids get sick all the time, and I myself suffered from morning sickness back when I was pregnant. But that’s only temporary and we treat it all quickly and efficiently. A common flu doesn’t last more than a day or two, tops. 

“But returning to the subject at hand,” I go on before we get distracted by our advances in medicine, “even if there were brain surgeons nowadays, they’d be considered and treated as fairly as a ‘simple’ janitor or a dustman. Plus, we Souls all learn the most basic and important jobs in our society, so we can value the people doing them and thank their efforts wholeheartedly. Truly, if you were to see a functioning Soul community, you’d see those basic jobs are rotational so we all spend our fair time performing them and value them as much as any other job in, I don’t know, what you knew as Law enforcement or Government.” 

“What we used to know?” repeats Sam, hung up on my latest words instead of my overall speech. “Are you telling me there’s no Law enforcement anymore?” 

“If everyone in a community agrees with the given and stablished Laws, even if they’re non-written precepts, and would consider not obeying them abhorrent, why would we have a need for people whose job is to make sure everyone lives by abiding those customs? We’ve kept jobs in the Law Enforcement Department, of course--but that’s mainly to keep the null unemployment rate where it is. They’re bored most of the day, really. They can probably count with the fingers of one hand the infractions they report weekly.” 

They look at me astonished and baffled, blinking as if I were truly a ghost from the thirteenth century whom they had nothing in common with. I sigh deeply, filled with regret, and look down on the hands on my lap, playing with my fingers. 

“Did they tell you too that TV shows and movies suck these days, and that you’d have a very hard time finding any kind of that glorious fast food we could enjoy day in and day out?” asks Ian then, clearly trying to ease the strange atmosphere with ridiculous questions meant to make us laugh. “A lot has changed during the time we’ve been away. Earth can barely be called our world anymore. 

“And before we get into an even deeper conversation, Wanda, we should be going,” he says all of a sudden, although he hasn’t checked the time at all. 

I seize the opportunity either way and stand, and my gesture somehow gets everyone else moving at the same time: Nicholas, Jared and Mel all stand to see us off, prompting Jared’s brothers to stand too out of courtesy. Jamie even goes to the extent of joining us to go to fetch Nick, leaving Jared, Mel and Nicholas Sr. the task to explain all about my and Ian’s son to Jared’s brothers. After the initial shock, they’ll get over it soon enough, they just have to. Same way they had to get used to so many other surprises and differences from the world they knew. 

Surprised that Jamie should join us in fetching Nick instead of staying at the apartment and listen all of Jared’s brothers’ stories, I let him walk all alone some feet before us and sulk for some minutes before I reach his side with a couple of strides and hug his shoulders. 

“Hey, Jamie. You do know you’re always going to be our little brother, don’t you?” I ask, running a hand through his hair. “Mel’s, mine and Jared’s, okay? That won’t change, doesn’t matter how much time passes, or how much things change. Even in your fifties we’ll still call you our little brother.” 

Knowing he’ll never, ever, lose that cute little title, even when he was a father of his own, finally makes him laugh. I almost suggest if he should go back to the apartment with Jared’s brother, but I keep quiet as Jamie doesn’t ask to go back--we really haven’t spent enough time together as it is, I’m not to send him away today. So we reach the daycare a few minutes later and, all the way back to the apartment, listen instead all the stories Nick has to offer about his morning spent at the nursery with dozens of other children. They make us laugh alright, and him talking about his day makes Ian and I finally feel good about ourselves, as we see he had a very good time there and he was soon distracted from his parents’ absence--the opposite of what happened with us, really. 

When we get home, I notice a funny atmosphere in the apartment. Jared’s brothers are working on the laptop and Jared, Mel and Nicholas Sr. all have sulking faces on their eyes. They quickly put on smiles for me and for the toddler, suggesting lying on the floor and let Nick be once more the center of attention in our family, and hence I just let them be and lay by my toddler’s side, happy to see and hear that he enjoyed it all. 

Nicholas Sr. however, steals Ian from us only a couple minutes after we got settled on the carpeted floor, and drags his son into the kitchen. I just focus on Nick and pretend not to notice anything, but I do hear bits and pieces of the conversation and see Ian’s body language. As far as I can tell he doesn’t like what his father’s telling him, not one bit. But after some seconds he gives up and resigns, one hand on his waist, another on the countertop, his hair quite messy after running his hands through it so many times. 

“Yeah, of course I’ll tell her,” he promises his father. “I’ll talk to her right now.” 

Looking down back on Nick, I tilt my head. At least Ian’s learnt his lesson and won’t be keeping any more secrets with me. 

Nicholas approves of Ian’s choice with a nod of his head, hands on his waist. After that, the conversation soon fades away and father and son leave the kitchen. Nicholas kneels by his grandson’s side with a broad smile, as Ian stands behind me. I notice his stare on the back of my neck, but I don’t want to be distracted from my son. 

“Hey, Nick, my precious boy, do you want to take a bath? You can tell me all about your day.” 

The toddler looks only too happy to have someone else as a spectator of his speech, and accepts the suggestion gladly, throwing his arms in the air. Nicholas pulls him up and takes him towards the bathroom, and I stay on the floor, looking after them, until they shut the door. Then my eyes scan the room, waiting for someone to speak up, till they rest on Ian, still standing, his sulking face, his hands inside the trousers’ pockets. 

“Now that the coast is clear, is there something you want to tell me?” I ask, feigning innocence. 

Ian sighs deeply and drops to the floor by my side. He’s regretting having to tell me about it, but he won’t hide things from me anymore. Jared and Mel, seated against the couch, don’t say a word either, which also means they’re not going to stop Ian from telling me whatever it is they all know, something that I realize they’d hide from me not too long ago in the past. 

“Couple things,” he confesses. 

“My, Jared’s brothers did bring in fresh news,” I chuckle. 

The fact that Ian merely shakes his head at my joke tells me that whatever’s going on is no matter of laughter. I sit up straight, my legs under me, holding onto a pillow from the couch. Ian reaches a hand and tangles his hands into my hair, absentmindedly, as if trying to distract me. I don’t look away from his eyes, not even for a second. 

“Good news first,” he sighs then when he knows he can’t linger any longer, turning his neck to look at Jared’s brothers. “Why don’t you tell her?”

Looking up from the screen, they need under a couple of seconds to agree, proving so by nodding their heads, dropping the pens and pencils they were holding, and standing to meet us five in the living room. They soon enough sit on the couch, a bit too awkward to be still on their feet when we’re all on the floor, even if we met barely couple hours ago. 

“We’ve got some hints to find our father,” says Jared in the end. 

“Well, that’s great!” I applaud, nearly ecstatic. “Shall we leave and start tracking him down, then?” 

“Not exactly, we might be able to find some things out by making a few phone calls first,” Frank stops me, and Ian hugs me by the shoulders before I jump out the window. “You see, when we were with Dad, we heard rumors that a human cell resisted down in the city of Texas. We went there to investigate--it was just too good to be true, and yet too good to be false as well. I don’t know if that makes any sense,” he chuckles. 

“Makes perfect sense,” I nod, smiling politely at him to reassure him. “It was your deepest desire, even if deep down, rationally, you knew it could very well be a trap.” 

“Exactly,” confirms Sam, nodding at me for my dead-on words. He then shakes his head from side to side, maybe trying to shake off the bad memories. “We still don’t know if it was just a ruse, or if there had been a human cell at some point and they were captured before we got there, but the place was infested--” 

“Sam, please,” begs Jared, sullen. 

“Sorry,” the man apologizes immediately, taking a brief look at me in case the words have affected me in some way. I smile politely to show him that they didn’t. “What I meant to say was, the place had been taken over by--Souls. We realized so a little bit too late and by the time we tried to escape. . . They’d already taken Dad out.” 

A shiver runs down my spine and I know I’m not the only one with that reaction. I know from Mel’s experience and perspective how they all feel, still today, about having a Soul inserted into their bodies. It’s only natural, human even, to still fear it and have nightmares about it. We just don’t let it all get to our heads. 

“So I’m guessing you were piling up a list of the Seekers and Healers involved in the operation, and with any luck find out the humans captured as well, or at least know the name of the Healer who inserted a Soul into your father’s body, so you might have a clue concerning what was your father’s residence, and keep working from there?” I ask, looking at Jared and his brothers in turn for confirmation. 

He nods back, the only answer I get from any of them. They’re all funnily surprised, eyebrows frowned, specially Jared’s brother, which just baffles me--did they think for some reason that I was stupid, by chance? Given Sam’s story and by saying they thought they had some clues to shed some light on their father’s whereabouts, it wasn’t that hard to figure out what they were planning on doing. 

Without pointing out the absurdity of their surprise and the obviousness of my so-called deduction, because smug is only a human’s trait, I move on, addressing the general direction of the four Howe siblings. 

“Do you have a list yet? Do you need me to make some calls?” I offer. I understand that, even though Jared’s brothers, and Jared himself for that matter, can see and accept the differences on Earth from when they were in hiding and thought Souls were the enemy, it can still be a very big leap of faith to ask them to voluntarily call Souls in order to question them and get information on the location of a person who could have perished under our--Soul’s--hands. If I can help in any way. . . 

“There’s something else we need to discuss first,” Ian says before Sam, Frank or Brandon can answer me. 

Frowning in stupor and quite honestly, anger too, I turn my neck to glare back at Ian--ready to tell him off for not giving the Howe siblings the chance to accept my offering--until I lock eyes with Ian and all of a sudden, I’m speechless, all my scolding forgotten on that instance. I can tell that whatever he’s keeping from me hurts him, and that it might hurt me too when he says the words out loud. Plus, the way he’s looking at me. . . 

I remember that glare. He had that same look on his eyes the day of the meeting with Council, in DC, right before the missions to track down humans started. It was a look filled with regret upon seeing me in danger, or at least more than ready and happy to embark on danger; and a plea for me to reconsider and not to go, even though deep down he knew I’d never step back, doesn’t matter what he or anyone else might say to convince me. 

That same look I see today on Ian’s eyes tell me that more than probably, I’ll react exactly as Ian fears I’ll do: accepting whatever suggestion comes up in spite of having half my family against my choice. 

“Tell me,” I beg, reaching a hand to his arm, then up to his chin and cheek. 

He grabs my hand, letting both hands drop to the floor and looks down on them, caresses my palm, my lines. Clearly stalling, but since he knows that I know, I don’t push him—he will tell me eventually, whenever he’s ready. Me not losing my patience also means Jared and Mel keep quiet, although, by my side, I can feel Jamie barely keeping his temper after two long minutes of silence. 

“Do you remember Martin?” 

I freeze, my eyes wide. Ian, noticing my first reaction, holds my hand tighter and looks at me through his eyelashes. I feel him tensing too—that’s the only reason as why I try to calm down and force my brain to remember how to breathe. By my side, Mel and Jared have been able to control their response only because they knew the news beforehand; as for Jamie, he’s got a deep wrinkle between his eyes. That name doesn’t bring him any better nor more pleasant memories than it does me. 

“Of course, I do,” I stutter the best way I can. 

“He’s kind of. . . Requested you,” Ian proceeds, each word a struggle. “He wants to talk to you, that is. If you’d agree to it.” 

After hearing the name ‘Martin’ I’ve no idea of what I’d expected to hear next, but that he’d want to talk to me was the very last thing I could have thought of--even if I’d had like a week to play the guessing game, which I already know I’m awful at. 

True, on my streak to know our neighbor’s well-being, I should have checked or at least asked about the one human cell our group number 0003 found. Coming from a Soul, to show a little bit of concern and interest about those humans we spent weeks tracking down is the least that could be expected from me--and yes, that’s on me. Still, there’s a simple, selfish reason as to why I avoided bringing up the subject of that human cell. Considering everything else we’ve been through here in Denver, we haven’t talked much about them, or about what happened--all I knew before today were the names and age of all the men and women hiding in those caves. 

“He’s doing better,” explains Ian, as if he’d heard my thoughts. “As a matter of fact most of that human cell have been discharged from the Recovery Centers they were admitted in and they’re trying, just like everyone else, to find their relatives and resume their previous lives. Martin’s the only one who remains hospitalized, incidentally--and he wants to speak with you before he’s cleared by the Healers and discharged.” 

Hearing that makes me frown more, doubt more. What could he possibly want to talk to me about? There’s nothing I can tell Martin that’d convince him that things have changed, that this Earth is still the Planet he used to know, with some major improvements that, when thought rationally, every human should see them as beneficial progress. But he doesn’t want to hear those things and he certainly doesn’t want to hear those things from me. Why the sudden and strange invitation? 

“But--why?” asks Jamie in my name. 

Ian exchanges one look with him and without a clear answer, he shrugs. I see that it grieves him not to have something more definite to work with. 

“Says he needs one final testimony to believe all of this,” he whispers, eyeing my reaction to his words, maybe looking for the definitive reason that’ll make him forbid me from going. 

“He’s been explained everything that’s happened multiple times by humans and Souls,” proceeds Jared, slowly, looking at Ian rather than me as in to have his blessing to keep talking. Well, wasn’t the afternoon incredibly productive, if everyone heard Martin’s plea and had time to ponder and consider it on my behalf. “Our history, what happened, why it happened, what in the world is going on now--he knows all about it and apparently, he understands it all too. But he says he wants to hear it all from you, the one Soul from the group who’d been out to get the human cell he belonged to.” 

“He has things to say too,” adds Mel. 

“No doubt,” is my only response to all their explaining and reasoning. 

“We’re not sure what kind of things he wants to say exactly, but he’s adamant that he will only talk to you, Wanderer,” resumes my sister, eyeing me closely, watching my reaction. “He promises it’s going to be nothing but a civilized conversation where everything will be answered and explained, nothing else.” 

Jamie, sitting by my side, glares at my family members in turn with the same confused and astonished look they must see in my own eyes--he doesn’t understand this any better than I do, maybe than Jared or Mel themselves. He grabs my hand and the fierce of the gesture already tells me what he thinks of the whole idea. In one word, it’s nuts. And under different circumstances altogether, I’d agree with him. Why should I be forced to meet with the man who tried to kill me and was very damn close to it?


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda decides, against her family's better judgement, to meet the human Martin

Ian bends and caresses my hand, which finally makes me snap out of it and focus on him, then Mel, then Jamie and last but not least, just a matter of physical proximity, on Jared. They’re all waiting for me to decide--although they knew my answer before they brought the subject up. 

“Well, then, I guess I must go see Martin,” I say in the end. 

My response is met with deep sighs of regret and incomprehension, as well as exasperated grunts, from my family. Ian drops his head and not seeing his eyes scares me a bit--I grab his chin so he looks at me again. But he’s not the one to speak up. 

“You don’t _have_ to do anything, Wanda,” Jared says, almost spitting out the words. “No one and nothing is forcing you to see Martin--you don’t have to meet him if you don’t want to. It’s not your duty. You’ve a choice, Wanda.” 

His words astonish Sam, Frank and Brandon on one hand--who at some point will be in for a long discussion about how a proper Soul must act according to basic principles and one’s duties, taken directly from our Origin Planet--but on the other hand, those words bring back memories of that distant day back at the caves, where Jared demanded to be alone with me to talk to me and Ian tried to talk me out of doing so, using quite a similar speech. The flashback brings a smile, however untimely, to my lips, and I can’t but look sideways at Jared, who’s shaking his head right now, reminiscing too, certainly. Can’t ignore how much things have changed if once upon a time Ian tried to protect me from Jared and now it’s Jared the one who’s trying to protect me from myself. 

Still, it doesn’t mean that I’m out of the woods, as he so proves just a couple of seconds later, after Mel hits him on the arm. 

“Feelings for me and whatever else you were going through notwithstanding,” he starts, in order to make me pull away from that day too, “you still need to make your own choice, Wanda. You’ve the right to decide what you want to do.” 

“Yes, I do,” I nod, approving his words as well. I inhale deeply, raise my head to prove that I’m not bluffing, or budging, or be talked reason into. “And I choose to meet and speak to Martin.” 

New desperate sighs and grunts arise, as heads drop upon my surprising certainty. Jamie’s got his hand really tight around my wrist, Ian runs a hand through his hair, Mel just looks outright disappointed and Jared’s scratching his nose absentmindedly, a movement that also indicates confusion and cynicism. Although they might not agree with my decision, however, none of them dares to speak up against it and that gives me the strength to keep on going. 

“I’ll leave for Towaoc tomorrow morning. After we drop off Nick at the daycare,” I settle, grabbing Ian’s hand to let him know that if he disagrees on something, now’s the time to speak up and talk about it. He seizes it. 

“You mean you won’t let our child know you’re leaving him?” he demands. 

“We’ve spent enough time apart as it is, I don’t want him to worry any more,” I reply. “I’m certain the discussion won’t take long--I’ll be back in the afternoon, early evening tops. Maybe I won’t be able to pick him up at the daycare, but surely I’ll be here for his dinner.” 

“Hey, count me in on the plan too,” protests Ian. 

“That won’t be necessary. Stay here, just in case our son or your father need you.” 

“What could possibly happen--” 

“Then I’m going with you,” insists Mel before we go down the path of another discussion. 

“What am I missing? Why do you all just assume I need back-up? Can’t I do this on my own?” 

“It’s not as if we’re talking about a protection detail--” Mel tries to calm me down, to be interjected by one snarky remark from Ian. 

“Which she does need, incidentally.” 

Mel keeps on speaking as if she’d heard nothing--must have gotten used to it, after the weeks they spent pretending to hate each other. 

“--we just believe you could use the moral back-up.” 

“I do not,” I scowl. 

“Yes, Wanda, you do so,” chuckles Jared, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can imagine a thousand different ways as how that conversation can derail.” 

“That’s just naïve, pessimistic and melodramatic human thinking,” I reply. “Everything will be alright, we’ll just have a nice and amiable talk. Plus, there’ll be Healers there too, right? There you have my moral support.” 

I finish my sentence looking back at Ian, knowing that he’ll be my strongest opponent and the hardest person to convince--but also knowing that, if I win him over, the discussion will end. 

With a creased brow, Ian bites his lower tip, but in the end he finds nothing else to add. He raises his hand, still wrapped in one of mine, as small as it is compared to Ian’s, and gently kisses the palm of my hand, without breaking eye contact withe me. Around us, since Ian hasn’t put up a fight with anything, Jared, his brothers, Mel and Jamie have already cleared out. Since, I realize, they’re going to keep on working, I let go of Ian and stand too, sitting on the dining table in order to catch up with Jared’s brothers’ whole work up until now. 

Few minutes later Nicholas shows up with his grandson and now it’s Jamie the one who takes over sibling duty and goes to play with Nick. Ian, after kissing me on the cheek, stands from the table and meets his father back in the kitchen. Once more, I manage to hear pieces of the conversation, which starts with a silent question from Nicholas Sr. 

“She’s going,” Ian reports. “No, all alone,” he says after a brief contribution from his father. 

I lean forward to check the list Brandon’s got compiled, tuning out Nicholas’ and Ian’s conversation altogether, giving them time to cool down. They will not change my mind now, so I don’t really fancy hearing their surprise and perhaps anger. 

The list in question is practically done already: two dozen Seekers, five Healers and their assistants, and some phone numbers of the apartments where those Hosts lived after having a Soul inserted into them. A total list of forty-seven numbers we might try contacting in order to get some news, anything that might help Jared and his brothers. 

“D’you want me to start making some calls?” I ask them. Obviously the idea of willingly contacting Souls, even if it’s for information about their father, is close to appalling to the three siblings, no wonder they don’t look so happy even after compiling the whole list. 

“We know it’s a lot to ask--” Brandon starts off, his voice apologetic. 

“But we’d appreciate it greatly,” confesses Frank. 

“No problem,” I wink at them, a reassuring smile on my lips telling them that it’s truly no big deal for me to help them out. 

Before I have to stand or even ask for it, I find in front of my eyes one of our cell phones--it was Jared the one who went to look for it. He’s got two other mobile phones and hands one of those to Mel, so it’s three people making calls. This way we’ll definitely get some answers sooner, I nod as we split the list amongst the three of us. As a matter of fact, Jared’s brought a fourth cell phone with him, along with the wireless landline--for Ian and Nicholas to use them, I gather. Since they’re still talking inside the kitchen, I don’t bother calling out to them and dial the first number on my list. 

One hour later, when it’s time for Nick’s dinner, we’ve made a total of thirteen calls, both to Seekers and Healers. They all remembered the event, of course--would be hard to forget such an incident in the supposedly peaceful era we lived in--but overall they couldn’t help us much beyond giving us more names and phone numbers and addresses to contact with. This just sounds exactly like what we did at the beginning to find our relatives, but at least for now, it doesn’t bring desperation and exhaustion with it; the good thing is, we’ve got more leads to follow with every phone call, which means that with every phone call, we might be closer to finding Jared’s father. 

News or no news, my plans don’t change throughout the afternoon, dinner and night games. In the morning Ian and I wake up Nick, give him his breakfast and say goodbye to our family before dropping off our son to the daycare--and then it’s my turn to go to the airport. Ian, of course, insists on taking me and I just cannot refuse the lift. 

“Call me when you land,” Ian begs for the last time, once he’s understood I will not accept him also traveling to Towaoc. 

“I will,” I promise--I’ll oblige anything he requires if that way he’ll stay home. 

“And give me a call when you finish your meeting,” he insists. “And then again when you’re back at the airport.” 

“You do know I’m going to Towaoc to talk to someone else other than you, right?” 

“Yes, I do. But if you change your mind and want me to go fetch you at Towaoc--” 

“That won’t be necessary,” I promise him, a bit frantic. By my estimate, I’ll be at the airport on my way back by the time Ian will be picking up Nick at the daycare--going to meet me at Towaoc would mean not meeting our son, which would lead to him freaking out because we left him all alone again. I rest a hand on the back of Ian’s neck and pull him down to give him a soft, quick peck on the lips. “I’ll be alright, Ian, you’ll see. I’ve got nothing to fear from Martin and if talking to me means he’ll be ready to go leave the Recovery Center and go back to society--” 

Our conversation is cut short by the warning to the passengers for the trip to Towaoc, announced by loud speakers all over the airport. I cannot miss the flight, a Soul is never late, and so I grab my purse from Ian’s hands, give him one last kiss on the cheek and start running trough the airport to the door number 89. 

Less than one hour later we land on Towaoc and I call Ian on the taxi, already on my way to the cafeteria we agreed on last night. Simon, the Soul I spoke to on the phone before dinner to arrange the meeting, is waiting for me standing in front of the cafeteria. He’s quite at ease, I can tell that still from inside the taxi--he’s swaying from one foot to the other, his hands crossed, and when I approach him I hear him humming a song. 

“Wanderer, it’s so wonderful to meet you in person,” he greets as we shake hands and kiss. “And it’s so nice of you to come to talk to Martin.” 

“Nonsense, anyone would have done the same,” I reply, and that’s partially true--any Soul, had they been in my shoes, would have agreed to talked to Martin. Our history and attempted murder notwithstanding. 

“He’s inside,” Simon reports when I look around without seeing the man of the hour. “Shall we?” 

Simon holds the door open for me and we step inside what was once supposed to be a book cafeteria, but has actually become a bookshop where they also serve drinks--there are one too many shelves and books all around, taking up to the last space available. I imagine they must conduct here group reading activities too and I make a mental note to look for cafeterias like this one in Denver, as I’m certain there must be and we could enjoy them. 

But I focus on the task at hand, as Simon points at the table where Martin, I see him now, his back facing the entrance, is waiting, unmoving, head dropped. I take in a very deep breath, suddenly uneasy, the imminent plans for our relatives of joining a reading club all but forgotten now. 

“What’re you drinking, Wanderer?” 

“A tea, please,” I ask the first beverage that comes to mind, which suits me and Simon just fine as the man goes to the bartender. 

Taking off my coat, I slowly advance to the table, but do not sit down just yet. I wait some seconds for Martin to notice me there and when he doesn’t, his eyes fixed on the newspaper on the table and his mind wandering who knows where, I clear my throat. The man turns around in fright and freezes when he sees and recognizes me. 

After two seconds, tired of waiting for a permit, I sit down in front of him, a polite smile never leaving my lips--I’m not stupid, I do realize I have to be careful around Matin and humans in general. 

“Hello, Martin,” I greet, trying to keep my voice even and kind. “I hear you wanted to talk to me?” 

He nods a couple of times, his fingers crossed over the newspaper. I try to keep my eyes locked with Martin and not on those big, strong hands that just a few weeks ago were trying to forcefully extract me from the Host I’m living in now. I must control my emotions around Martin, I cannot flinch when he moves, I cannot show that deep down he frightens me. 

“Yes. Yes, I did,” he nods, but doesn’t elaborate any further. And before I can press him, Simon shows up with a tray, carrying my tea and what I suppose it’s Martin’s order, a black coffee. 

“Here you go,” he says, giving us our cups. “D’you need anything else?” 

“No, thank you very much, Simon,” I reply, my words overlapping with Martin’s thankful notes. 

“Well, in that case, I’ll let you be. Call me when you want to go back to the Center, okay, Martin? I’ll be taking a walk, I won’t be too far, so don’t you worry,” says Simon, resting a hand on Martin’s shoulder and patting him reassuringly. I wish he could have stayed a while longer, I reflect while I see Simon grabbing his coat. His over cheerfulness disposition is exactly what Martin and I need to break the ice. 

As a matter of fact, after Simon’s leaving, he and I spend a couple of minutes in complete silence, sipping on our drinks. It comes to a point where I’m almost tempted to stand and search for a book, any book at random, so we’ve got something to talk about. Just seconds before I put said plan in motion, Martin speaks up. 

“You know, at the Center they’ve spent weeks telling me how much things have changed,” he whispers, looking outside the windows, as if trying to spot the difference between this world and the one he knew. “But it’s. . . Difficult.” 

“I know, I know. Everyone has been through what you’ve been through, Martin, believe me. Myself included.” 

“What I mean is, it’s difficult to see and to understand all those changes you talk about. In appearance, everything remains the same,” he replies. “You kept a lot of our traditions. Just, look at us--drinking coffee in a café, just like we used to do back in the day.” 

“The thing is, we Souls don’t mean to change the core elements of a Planet,” I confess. 

“They’re trying to explain to me those changes when I cannot possibly comprehend them all until I re-enter society. And that is a very big leap.” 

“It is,” I concede. “But by being here, you’re making one very big step. You know, I might help you unscramble all those mysteries this Planet holds. I used to be a teacher in San Diego--” 

“Yes, I know--they’ve shown me some of your videos,” he interjects. 

I nod to approve the work they do at the Recovery Center, showing humans the messages and lessons we recorded, but move on--I could tell this is a sensitive subject for Martin, for some reason. 

“Tell me, what do you have most trouble understanding? 

Martin takes a very deep breath and looks out to the street again--perhaps listing all the things he’s unable to make heads and tails out of. 

“Why have you discarded our flags?” he asks. 

Given the conversation with Jared’s brothers from yesterday, I’d expected a question much more complicated and pointy question. I’ve also had it much worse at college, but still I consider Martin’s just as a valid question as any other I’ve ever been asked, back in the caves, in College, Congress or anywhere else. And he also deserves a proper answer. 

“We did not discard any flags, Martin,” I reply. “They still represent the countries of this Planet and so, as part of your cultural heritage, we could never get rid of something that much important to you. However, you also must know that we Souls believe in equality--and flags, as representations of one country’s beliefs and ideologies, couldn’t be considered equitable. The creation and the reason of flags are against what we believe: proclaim a possession over a land and proclaim sovereignty over its citizens.” 

“I’d beg to differ,” protests Martin, but I raise one finger to stop him and finally prove my point. 

“To start with, your American flag, just for being the US flag, meant an economical and political superiority over so many other countries in the middle East or South America.” 

“Just because there were social, economical and political differences between nations.” 

“Differences that, as you already know, we erased,” I point out. “Try to understand it this way, Martin--even the most global and inclusive of flags were, to some degree, exclusive. You can’t have inclusiveness without exclusiveness, just as you cannot have trust without the concept of treason. The EU flag excluded everyone who wasn’t a member of the European Union. The same for the NATO flag. Even the LGBTQ+ flag excluded everyone who didn’t understand or didn’t accept sexual orientation beyond heterosexuality.” 

“What about the Summer Olympic Games?” he points out. 

I can’t help but chuckle--he’s almost got a good point there. 

“There was not a single Olympic Games editions where all two hundred and four nations, represented by the NOCs, participated in the tournament before we Souls got here,” I reply. “And I don’t believe you will take into account any of the editions we performed.” 

“Not really,” Martin scowls, waving the idea away with his hand. 

“Answer me this: was there ever an ‘Earth’ flag, Martin? One flag which represented all two hundred and four countries of the world, all in one? If there had been, that’s the one flag we Souls would have adopted. But there wasn't, so we couldn't. There were attempts, I won't deny that, such as the International Flag by Oskar Pernefeldt, but few people accepted it and fewer people still knew about it. So, again, there was no flag we could have chosen and integrated.” 

Martin holds my eye for some seconds after my speech, without giving an answer to any of the questions I’ve thrown out at him. He then breathes out deeply and looks out the window once more. If it’s just to have time to think, or to avoid my gaze, I cannot tell--and take another sip of my drink. 

He needs two whole minutes before he looks at me again with a second question. 

“How many Planets are out there?” 

“Billions,” I say immediately, that being an easy question for once. “The technology your scientists at NASA had would never have been able to determine and assess the vast amount of Planets that can be found outside of your known Galaxy, the Milky Way. Unfortunately, I already know there are way too many Planets for us to discover them all--”

Martin raises one hand to stop me from talking--I had misunderstood his question, I can tell that now. I shut up immediately and wait for him to try again. 

“I meant how many Planets you’ve invaded.” 

I cringe at the choice of words, but know better than to correct him, and try to hide my reaction by simply clenching my jaw, holding onto my cup of tea and looking down to my hands. That allows me to see for the first time the newspaper on the table--and realize Martin already knows the answer to his question. After all, it’s in front page today. 

“We’ve cohabited eleven Planets, although, as you might have read, we’ve just discovered a fifteenth Planet with living beings inhabiting it.” 

“So you’re still exploring the universe,” he sums up, tapping the newspaper. 

“Why, of course,” I simply nod. Maybe if I wasn’t alone, if maybe Mel were here with me still, I’d have realized in time my words would affect Martin the wrong way. But for now, this is a polite a conversation as the ones we used to have in College and I don’t twice about it. “Since we’ve got the tech to travel into different galaxies, we see it only rational. We’re curious creatures and we thrive with learning different cultures--it’s the same as when you humans visited different countries, to learn new languages and ways of living.” 

“Are you actually comparing innocent tourism with the invading of foreigner Planets?” he explodes. 

Taken aback, I gasp, my nose crinkling. I take a few seconds to calm down, breathing in and out very deeply, my nostrils swelled up by the effort. I don’t mean to be disrespectful and give Martin an incredibly inappropriate answer because of his choice of words--but I have to draw the line somewhere. 

“Martin,” I beg. “Invade is such a strong word that I ask you not to use again during this conversation. I understand your point of view, but what we Souls do is not and cannot be considered an invasion. Like I said, we’re curious creatures, always on the quest of finding out more things about the species we coexist with in this universe. We like visiting other Planets so we can learn from everyone we meet in every system we discover. Our intent and interest is vast and innocent, I promise you that.” 

“Right,” he interjects, nodding, his voice clearly sarcastic--there are some things I have learnt from human behavior. “Just as innocent as your arrival here on Earth.” 

“Mistakes were made,” I grant. “But our intentions were honorable.” 

“Who cares about your intentions considering the damage you made?” 

“Listen here,” I reply, a bit rude now. “We came here with the same goal we had when we discovered every other Planet before the Earth: we wanted to learn from you and exchange with you any sort of technology and information that might help you be better, _become_ better. Now, we understand our wrongs, no one denies the damage we’ve caused--we’re all aware of the human losses that will never be recovered--but we’re trying to right our wrongs. That’s why we’re leaving the Earth, Martin, as you can see by yourself. Dozens of us are leaving this Planet every day to give you your Earth back.” 

“And are you going to do the same with all those other Planets you’ve--?” 

“Don’t say it,” I interject him before he dares to say that word out loud again. “And no, the Earth is the only Planet we’ve considered we wrongfully took and had to leave.” 

“Then your existence here on Earth has meant nothing,” scowls Martin, shaking his head. 

“Both humans and Souls have learnt a lot with our staying here.” 

“No, you lot haven’t learnt a damned thing. If humans hated every minute that you stayed here, killing our brothers and sisters, what makes you think that the species in the other planets out there really want you occupying their planet?” 

“We know they don’t want us to leave, Martin.” 

“Or perhaps you’ll only leave us all the hell alone when you face a revolution in every other planet you’ve conquered?” 

“There are no revolutions out there, Martin,” I try to reason, doing my best to keep my temper.

“Because you’ve wiped their wills and thoughts!” 

“Of course we haven’t!” I explode once more. “In all those worlds out there we coexist and cohabit peacefully with its rightful owners--and we got to that situation because we came to terms with those species, we agreed. We saw eye to eye with them from the beginning and all we did was learn from each other to perfect each other’s worlds and ways of living. We planned on doing the same here, but we did it all wrong from the beginning.” 

“Yes, you did,” the first time he agrees with me feels so wrong that I nearly choke. My suspicion that getting through this argument doesn’t even begin to cover how I’m feeling right now. This is a hundred times worse than any other lecture I’ve ever done before, or maybe a thousand times worse. Remorse is almost unbearable, and Martin’s practically using every chance he’s got to reproach me for everything my species did wrong. Looking back to something we did knowing it was done poorly and for all the wrong reasons is something a Soul isn’t used to--and we’ll never be--and won’t ever outlive. “What good do you think you did here anyway?” 

“Oh, come on, not even _you_ can be that obtuse,” I explode, throwing my hands in the air. “We healed the environment, we ceased the never-ending wars, all forms of criminality vanished, we eliminated poverty and social classes!” 

“You missed the part where my question was rhetorical,” scowls Martin, rising another hand to put a stop to what could have been a long speech from my part. “The Earth you leave behind isn’t the Earth. Not the Planet we knew. We humans were known for having differences. Different ways of being, of living, difference of opinions and beliefs. And now we’re all back to the ‘70s, all hippies, all peace and love, living in shared dormitories and singing songs of cohesion and happiness all day long? What kind of Earth do you think this is, I pray?” 

Once more, I try to slow down the pace of the argument and take a breath or two. 

“Martin,” I start off again. “If you’d seen all my lectures you’d understand that I really think just as you do. Erasing someone’s way of being, thinking, acting and communicating does mean erasing someone from existence. We are aware that only a small amount of humans who’d hosted a Soul have got their memories back afterwards, and those are unforgivable losses, yes, I agree with you. 

“But please, look around. Like you said before, this could very well be a cafeteria from the old times, where people met to drink and catch up, to read and just have a good time. We’re not singing songs or doing yoga all the time--where have you seen that?” 

“Listen here,” says Martin, deaf to my explanations, “this couldn’t possibly be a cafeteria like the ones we used to have. You tell me why.” 

I understand that this time Martin’s expecting one straightforward answer from me and I concede. Sighing deeply, I pull back, rest on my chair’s back and, arms crossed, look around, trying to figure out the riddle. There’s soft music playing, people laughing, people reading on those circular tables, drinks being ordered, caters walking amongst the tables, the usual rattle of a cafeteria at the end of winter, without tables outside the street. For the longest time, I don’t know what Martin means--but then, I put my finger on it. I close my eyes as I understand. 

“There are still Souls here,” I whisper. Two of the waitresses are Souls, one of the reading clubs is formed only by Souls, there are many other clients with those gleamy eyes. For Martin, this is the reason why things cannot possibly go back to how things were back in the day. And the realization hurts me more than I can confess. 

“Yes,” he confirms. “There are still Souls here, in this café, living in this city and in this country. You say you’re leaving, but I still see those gleamy eyes everywhere. Why? Why can’t you all just pack up and leave?” 

“Martin, you have to understand, that is not possible,” I try to implore, feeling how he’s riling up all over again, and I’m not in a position to handle anger right now. 

Instead of interjecting me, which has been kind of our routine throughout the conversation, Martin leans forward, although this proximity to me, one of those Souls, clearly displeases him. The look on his eyes, for the first time since I sat down, scares the hell out of me, and I freeze on the spot. 

“You will tell me how to get you all out of this Planet,” Martin says, nothing more than a whisper, but a frightening, threatening whisper. I’m not able to look away from those eyes and from those lips from where such sickening words are coming out. “You will tell me now, so we can kick you to the stratosphere.” 

A movement of his hand catches my attention and I look down on the table. There, under the newspaper, I see something that I should have noticed the minute I sat on the chair. If I’d been accompanied by any of my relatives, or if someone other than a Soul had accompanied Martin into the cafeteria, they would have seen it within seconds, and probably would have avoided the scene that will unfold in front of my eyes. Well, Ian will have the pleasure to say ‘I told you so’ once more. Perhaps. 

Martin notices my noticing with a sick, twisted smile, and his tongue wets his lips once. 

“You tell me and everything will be all right, sweetie,” he promises. “You keep quiet, and I start shooting centipedes.” 

“Please, listen to me,” I beg, my voice shaky, my eyes unable to move away from that repulsive gun hiding under the newspaper. “This won’t work. You cannot force all the Souls in this Planet to leave anymore than you can get all the Souls present here in this cafeteria in a spaceship and out of the Earth. It’s simply impossible.” 

“I’m not bluffing,” scowls Martin. 

“Me neither,” somehow I find myself saying.

“Didn’t they say you were like a super important centipede? That you have power and can influence your little, disgusting peers?” 

“No, I don’t have any kind of power--and I certainly don’t have that much influence,” I promise, although I realize this isn’t time for another debate on Soul’s community. “What I mean is, morally, we cannot force them to leave. They made a choice and if they want to stay--” 

Martin grabs my wrist and pulls me with such a strength that I let out an involuntary squeal as he pins me down on the table. I almost start shivering--the resemblance as to when he pinned me down to take me out of the Host is frightening, and I already know he’s capable and willing of extracting me without remorse. 

“Do you think I give a _damn_ about what they chose?” he explodes. “Did you ever give _us_ a freaking choice, deerie?” 

“Listen,” I beg, nearly choking because of his restraint on my neck. “Even if you do this, even if you kill every Soul, you will not achieve what you want. All those humans will die too. Do you want to get rid of half the Planet’s population, single-handedly?” 

“ _Just shut up!!_ ” he commands. Something drops in front of me--I open my eyes and see a cell phone. “Shut up and call whoever you need to. I want a Decree, a Law or whatever that binds you to leave the Earth and never return.” 

I don’t move my hands from where they are--who would I call, anyway? No one, not even Congress, can make what Martin’s demanding happen. We’re already trying to leave the Earth, but in a proper way, that is, gradually and taking care of every person’s needs. Us leaving cannot be achieved overnight. And Souls will not be forced to leave the Earth. 

“Martin, this. . . What you want. . . Is going to happen eventually. Just give us time,” I try to beg, although it’s hard for him to hear what I’m saying. “We’re trying to do this properly, for once. In a year, maybe two--” 

“How long do you expect us to wait?” he shrieks. 

I was waiting for the explosion of the gun and the bullet to pierce my skull right then and there, but suddenly the pressure on my neck is gone and what I hear next are the all-too-known sounds of a struggle and a fight, and some weak voices asking me if I’m alright. I daren’t open my eyes for some seconds, just in case. The last time I found myself in this same very predicament, the situation around me was kind of a mess--meaning, my relatives were about to get shot. 

“Dear Lord, it’s Wanderer,” a woman near me scowls, caressing my hair. 

“Emergencies will be here in no time,” promises a second woman, talking hurriedly due to the fear and the feeling empty and stupid without nothing to do. 

“Wanda, can you hear us? Are you hurt?” asks a man, whose voice is so different from Martin’s that doesn’t bring nightmares with its concerned questions. 

“Can you talk?” presses a third woman. 

In the end, knowing I’m just being a coward, I dare opening my eyes. Many people surround me and the table, I feel a few hands on my cheeks, my wrists to check my pulse, my hair, someone has just put a wet cloth over my forehead. Beyond them, I see Martin, still struggling even though he’s being pinned down on the floor by three grown-up men. Judging by their skills and strength, the three opponents must be humans, for certain. 

What more interests me is, however, the gun he had. Said weapon is gone, both from the table and from within Martin’s reach, and so I can breathe again. Relief flooding me all over, I try to stand. Need to get away from Martin. 

Understanding my wish but seeing my shaking, the customers surrounding me just hold me by the arms and shoulders, letting me lean my weight on them rather than my weak legs, and help me cross the cafeteria and sit on a table at the other end of the room. Someone offers me something for me to lay my feet on, as to help the blood circulation. The owner appears seconds after I’ve sat down again, offering me a bottle of cold water as well as a glass with a golden drink I daren’t touch. 

By the time the Healers enter the cafeteria, it almost looks like I don’t require their assistance: a waitress is wiping the sweat off my forehead, face and neck with a cold cloth, I’ve drunk nearly half of the bottle of water and I’ve reassured everyone more than twice that I’m positively, not suffering a nervous breakdown or anything. But, of course, there was no way they’d let me be and call off the Healers. 

Two stay with me while three run towards Martin and the other humans, whose fight has finally come to a halt. 

“Are you all right?” asks one of them. 

“Yes,” I promise once more. “Just take care of Martin, please.” 

My plea doesn’t make the Healers forget about me and I just sigh deeply, knowing what’s to come. Nothing happened, really, I want to scowl--although the fact that I consider as ‘nothing’ or ‘normal’ being pinned down and threatened by one of those awful and deadly guns registers somewhere in the back of my mind. 

Few minutes later, the Healers carry one restraint Martin across the cafe, bringing him dangerously close to the chair I’m seated on. Some of the customers, specially the Souls, step backwards, but no, I’m just a suicidal masochist who locks eyes with Martin as he approaches, and who then raises one hand to ask for him and the Healers to stop for a second. They oblige out of stupor and I speak up before they try to drag Martin out of here or interject me with some stupid thing along the lines of that I don’t need to say anything to Martin. 

“Listen, I understand that you want your Planet back and that it was one stupid last attempt at achieving that dream,” I start off. I must keep my hands to myself and not try to grab Martin by the arm, a gesture that I know, won’t do good with any of the people present. “However, there’s one thing you must understand, Martin. Leaving the Earth is a gradual and slow process for two main reasons. The first one, I’ve told you already: this Planet is home to many Souls already and it is just wrong to take it away from them too. 

“And the second one,” I proceed before Martin interjects me, although by the way he’s being handled, I doubt he’d be able to put in a single word, “is that a lot of those humans who were captured and inserted, more than we’d like to admit, cannot possibly return. If the Soul is extracted from those Hosts, the humans will die, and there’s no way around it, not even with our advanced technology. You’d say that leaving those humans would mean granting them the clean death they deserve, and perhaps you’re right. . . But to us Souls, leaving them now would trigger nothing more than another genocide, and that’s not something we will allow again, not on this beautiful Planet, not as great a species as humans. So a certain population of Souls _will_ have to stay in order to keep hundreds of humans alive. Which also means that the next generation of people who will walk this Earth and enjoy its delights will be a mixed generation between humans and Souls. . . And you need to come to terms with that. Talk to your Healer and your Comforter, please. Take your time to process and understand it all.” 

By the way Martin’s looking at me, I don’t think he understood a single word I said, but I’m too tired already, and the silence hovering is too stressful and strange now, so I just drop my gaze and reach for the bottle of water--putting an end to the conversation, whether Martin wanted it or not. He must be dazzled, because he lets himself be dragged out of the cafe with a single complaint. 

Silence lingers until after Martin has left, not even broken by the couple Healers who were supposed to take care of me. As I keep my head dropped, focusing on sipping the water, I feel the surprised stares from all the customers and waitresses on me. Great. I just cannot go anywhere without making a big scene and a lecture out of it, apparently. 

I simply tune it all out and keep on drinking. After all, what’s there left to say? There will be no encores to the lecture, no questions asked or comments made. And I doubt anyone fancies any less than I do talking about what’s just happened. This wasn't a conversation, not even a discussion like those I held in College back in the day. This was an accusation, a flat-out trial on my character, on Souls' sole reason for coming to Earth, causing the damage we caused, and staying here for a minute longer. And here I thought I wouldn't be attacked again after returning to the safety of my home, verbally or any other way. 

With them taking Martin away, the door has been left open, leaving Michael a chance to step inside, out of air, his eyes bat open, baffled and astonished. He looks down at me, his mouth twisting without any words coming out, maybe not even daring to ask the impending and obvious question. 

“The conversation went great, Michael,” I say sarcastically, unable to keep up the façade any longer and be as kind and benevolent a Soul is supposed to be. “Just look after him, okay? He’s still got a long way to go.” 

“Yes,” nods Michael immediately. “Yes, of course, we’ll do that. Don’t you worry.” 

And repeating those last words, maybe to reassure himself as well as me and the other customers witnesses of the incident, Michael leaves too. Well, that’s one human, one Healer and one Comforter less that I’ll need to check up on, I settle on that moment. 

“No more,” I whisper, turning towards the table to drop the cloth and the bottle of water. 

Very few people understand my plea, mainly because my plea is selfish and pretty much goes against everything a Soul should stand for. Only the owner of the cafeteria seems to grasp my feelings, or at least he comes the closest, when he hands me that golden beverage again. I don’t think it twice before grabbing the glass and emptying it whole with one drink. Up until today, up until this very moment, I never thought alcoholism could come to suit me.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin's meeting was just the straw that broke the camel's back for Wanda. She's hospitalized in a Healing Center due to her mental breakdown. Jeb's POV

These days we’re all about reuniting with old time friends and family members. About joy, about forgiving and making peace with each other, about catching up after years of being apart, and laugh over drinks about the worse times we spent in hiding avoiding those terrifying aliens. About taking care of each other--taking care of our families. At least that’s what I thought everything was about lately.  
   
Then why on Earth would I receive a call to report that Wanda should be hospitalized for a nervous breakdown? Damnit, Ian, Mel and Jared were supposed to look after her. They knew she’d go out of her way these days, trying to make up for her wrongs and overcompensating her remorse and regret, out of the ‘wrongs’ she considered her species had caused. 

They should have stayed by her side; last I knew, they were all living in Denver till they decided what to do next. Why would they let Wanda all on her own to leave the city that was to become her hometown as well, all to meet a human, and the human who tried to kill her not too long ago to top it all, that’s a question I cannot give an answer to and honestly, if someone tries to reason this whole thing, they’re going to need to be hospitalized too. 

But all of that will come, surely, after I check on Wanda, because for some forsaken reason I’m the closest to a family member she’s got within the same freaking county, just because Ian and that lot couldn’t be bothered to accompany her in a one-hour trip by plane on her meeting with the man who was this close to becoming her butcher just a few weeks ago. None of this makes any sense altogether, doesn’t matter how many times I try to understand the riddle, doesn’t matter we’re talking about Wanda of all people. 

For now, however, I’ve got other priorities. If I ever get my hands on Martin--and on Ian and Mel and Jared as well--he will not live to tell the tale, they’ll get a bullet up their brains as soon as I see them. 

I can understand that Martin’s a human, and that he’s suffering a lot lately, trying to come to terms with the new reality, but heck, we all are. He’s feared and hated Souls for so long now, that said intrinsic feelings can’t easily go away, but that’s no excuse for attacking, either verbally or physically, such a pure a Soul as dear Wanderer. Why would she meet that man alone, I still cannot wrap my mind around it. I don’t care what in the world could Wanda say to convince Ian and the others. They should never have left her go alone.  
   
I’m gasping as I reach the Healing Center--which makes more than one head spin and look at me with a mixture of curiosity and fear. I don’t seem to be harmed or injured in any way, but I do look in distress, which kind of is a peculiarity in a Healing Center nowadays, I gather. Still, I don’t have the time or the patience to give answers to anyone--I barely have the temper to stop by the clerk Soul and ask for Wanda. They know the answer without having to check and I head for the psychiatric ward--I’m guessing her arrival caused an important mayhem at the Center.  
   
There was an awful stigma about all things related to psychiatry and psychology before the Invasion. Even though it’s gotten better now, mainly because people don’t really require those kinds of medical attention--apart from the humans in coming out of their shelters, that is--and also because people with those conditions aren’t condemned anymore but get the medical care that they need, I would have hoped that Wanda would never be in need of such a professional. 

She’s strong, she’s proven that so many times now, what with the abuse she suffered the first few months at the caves, and every day since then. She coped with all that without ever seeking the help of such a professional--not that she’d never ask. That now, when things are supposed to have changed, when the bonding between Souls and humans is supposed to be nothing but amiable and good-natured, now is when Wanda happens to need a damned psychiatrist. The world has turned upside down.

I see no doctors coming in or out of Wanda’s room who can bring me up on her condition or even prepare me for what I’ll be facing in there, so I just barge in uninvited. 

She’s sitting on a chair facing the window, her back on me, her hands crumpled on her lap, without moving. At first I think inactivity is good. It means she’s calm, relaxed, not the nervous wreck I’d feared, and I breathe again, the ghost of a smile appearing on my lips. 

A few seconds later, I realize it’s not but. Wanda’s a very hard-working person, diligent, painstaking and tiredless. Only when she was severely injured did I ever see her rest in the caves, or since then. She’s always got a mission of sorts to fulfill and it’s a pain in the ass to stop her when she’s got her mind set. Active, resolute person, that’s for certain, although her claim of not being the best out in the field might be legitimate. 

Anyhow, she’s not the kind of person to sit the whole day away. And for the long minute I stand there at the doorstep, she doesn’t move an inch. 

Ignoring the sharp intake of breath, I step forward till I’m barely a couple feet from the chair. Wanda hasn’t noticed my footsteps, which I thought she would. She doesn’t even flinch when I kneel in front of the chair, a sudden move I’d expected to frighten her, get any reaction out of her. But then I get a glimpse of her face and I understand--she’s under severe medication. 

It boils my blood. This was never supposed to happen. No other human was supposed to be harmed during the process of Souls leaving the Earth, but no other Soul was either. Wanda was certainly implied in that vow. Even if none of us ever made a vow to protect her, even to protect her from herself, I make it right here and now--I won’t let Wanda be hurt again. Whatever it takes, I will spend the rest of my days by her side, even if it’s back in the caves, so no harm comes to her ever again. 

“Wanda,” I call her out, reaching a hand. 

I grab her chin and force her to look down at me. For the longest seconds, there’s no reaction coming from her and I start to panic when she shows a strange smile, her eyes focusing briefly on me. 

“Jeb,” she whispers, and I breathe again. But then she turns her head again to look through the window. “Isn’t it beautiful?” 

Outside we can only see the busy street at our feet, the cars flying by, pedestrians going on about their lives, a couple trees gradually growing their leaves with the upcoming spring. It does make me smile as well. 

“Yeah, ain’t that a view,” I can’t help but agree. “Didn’t have this outside the window back in the caves, did we?” 

“No, we didn’t,” confirms Wanda, her eyes never wandering off the window. 

“But it could never be as beautiful as the Flower Planet,” I reckon. Not trying to disagree with her today of all days--I just can’t let the conversation drop now that she’s finally talking. It seems to do her good, to speak up her mind on a topic that won’t make her anxious. 

“It’s very difficult to make comparisons amongst Planets,” she complains, tilting her head. “Earth is an amazing Planet. It’s so beautiful, it’s so diverse. At times it feels like a lot of planets in itself--we’ve got the desert, of course,” she chuckles softly and glances briefly at me, certainly referring to the caves, but expects no answer from me whatsoever, “but also mountain ranges, great lakes, the Poles. . . It’s just amazing. Although, as far as the Planet of the Flowers goes... No, Earth cannot possibly be compared to it either. Not even deep in the forest of a National Park or deep in the jungle could you grasp what it feels like, immerse yourself in that way. There’s no explaining it. You just have to be there.” 

As she speaks with a mellow, low and tired voice, I settle on the floor, legs crossed, never letting go of her hand. She talks on and on, never expecting an intervention from me, although she gets one now and then, asking questions that she answered a long time ago. I couldn’t care less, I like hearing her talk and explaining the species that live out there. It always amazes and baffles me, I could listen to it ten times and I couldn’t get tired of the stories. Plus, the way she looks relaxed, at peace, while telling me those tales--I just don’t want her to wake up. If I could get her to keep talking forever about all the Planets out there, make her forget all the hardship and bad experiences she’s lived here, I would do it. 

Unfortunately, I knew from the start that it wasn’t up to me. Several nurses come and go to check up on Wanda and leave quietly upon seeing everything’s in order, but at one point the door slams open--and it’s Ian the one who comes in. Jared and Mel’s faces pop up behind the man, looking for Wanda. 

I stand up from the ground, not letting go of Wanda’s hand. She hasn’t even noticed Ian barging in, same way she didn’t even flinch upon the entry of the nurses, as she hasn’t stopped talking, with a voice barely audible now, as if she knew no one was listening to her. 

“Wait outside,” I order without raising my voice. They obey, a bit reluctantly, but finally do as I said, Jared and Mel dragging Ian away. 

I kneel in front of Wanda again, but she’s noticed nothing. She just keeps talking about all the lifeforms in the Planet of the Flowers. I rub her hand and gently kiss her forehead. She doesn’t react in any way and, more reluctantly than the others did just a few seconds ago, I leave the room, peaking above my shoulder not to miss any movement or gesture from Wanda. 

They didn’t go too far: I find them just outside the room all of them showing varying signs of regret and anxiousness. Ian, for starters, is walking up and down the length of the hall, running a hand up to his hair, and when he drops his arm he checks the buttons and the sleave of his shirt. Jamie’s biting his lower lip so strongly that blood will soon pour out; Mel, leaning against a wall, is biting her thumb’s fingernail; Jared, his back facing Wanda’s room, he’s sighing deeply, head dropped, stroking the back of his neck. 

On the other hand, I stand in the middle of the hallway with clenched jaw. Although a third party would probably pity this lot and take it easy on them, I cannot possibly do that today. I clear my throat and everyone looks up to me at the same time. 

“How’s she?” they demand. “Can we see her?” 

The only one who can get away today is poor Jamie. He probably didn’t get a say in the whole matter and, either way, I’m not comfortable leaving Wanda all on her own in that room. 

“You may go in,” I say, pointing at the boy. Just a little surprised and flustered, he doesn’t question my judgement as he exchanges one look with his sister, Jared and Ian. They all nod in return and the boy walks around me in order to cross the hall and enter Wanda’s room. 

I wait until I hear the door closing to face the three of them. 

“I’ve got another question for you--how on earth did I get here faster than any of you did?” 

The question baffles them all. “I think proximity had something to do with it,” Jared answers slowly, eyebrows frowned. 

“Yeah, exactly my point!” I explode. “Why on earth did you let her out of your sight? I don’t care what she said, I don’t care if she’s here just to buy groceries--you shouldn’t have let her come all the way here by herself! How come you can’t understand it? Are you really that stupid and obtuse that you let her get her way just like that? What sort of adults do you think you’re becoming, for God’s sake?” 

“Hey, hold on, Jeb,” begs Ian, raising a hand. I push it away from me. 

“What? What could you _possibly_ say on your defense?” 

“Wanda wanted to come all alone,” he says, which is exactly the sort of excuses I’d thought I’d hear. “She said this wouldn’t pose a threat, that she wouldn’t be in danger at all.” 

“Really? Coming to meet one of the humans who tried to kill her not so long ago, you considered _that_ a non-menacing meeting? I’m really starting to wonder what your little, stupid minds would consider a threat to Wanda’s life. A nuclear bomb, perhaps?” 

“You’re blowing this out of proportion,” scowls Mel. 

“I don’t think I am!” I explode. “What did you lot _think_ was going to happen? That they’d throw daises on a field, dance arm in arm down the street, sing kumbaya together? Have you all lost your minds?” 

“Uncle Jeb, do you think that we threw Wanda into a plane and just forgot about her?” replies Mel. “We talked with the Healers in charge of Martin’s case. They said he was doing better, that all he wanted was one last chat with Wanderer, allegedly to clear things out and ask for forgiveness. Wanda believed it--” 

“You _all_ believed it,” I interject her, looking at them all in turn, seeing the rightly guilt and regret in all their eyes. “Do you honestly think that Martin changed so much in such a short period of time?” 

“Well, that’s what we’re aiming for, you know!” replies Ian. “With all those missions, all those messages and testimonials--we’re hoping humans will see truth! We saw no reason as not to believe Martin and the Healers.” 

“All due respects, we’re no Souls,” I scowl. “We don’t trust blindingly, we tend to see the worse in people and usually disbelieve the good, because that’s our nature. Souls are the opposite and bring the hope and the light into our lives. I could expect Wanda believing Martin’s miraculous recovery, but not you three! You didn’t even suspect a thing, not for a second? Couldn’t you see the severe implications that, as it turned out, could happen?” 

“Wanda thought she had to do it alone,” Jared tries to explain. “That it was best for her--” 

“When did she start learning what’s best for herself?” I interject him, because the words are simply too naïve to be true. “You know as best as I do that she always prioritizes other people’s needs and thinks of herself second!” 

“We tried to stop her.” 

“And failed,” I remind them, raising my eyebrows as a further accusation. 

“You know how darn stubborn she is.” 

“I also know she never should have been put in such a position of confronting her butcher-to-be. It’s just idiotic and insane, couldn’t you see?”

“Hey, you understand it’s just as immoral to tell her what she can and cannot do,” replies Ian. “She’s got a mind and a voice of her own! What do you suggest we should have done, chained her up or drugged her, so she wouldn’t leave?” 

That does it. I cannot tolerate even the thought of Wanda being harmed or pushed in any way again. In an untimely burst of anger, I throw myself at Ian, slamming him against the wall. All around us I hear gasps from other patients, yelps from Healers and nurses, people of both species demanding me to let go Ian and others asking for security to come here stat--but until they do, I’m under no obligation of releasing the man, although I do realize I may be choking him with my hold. 

“We may we humans but we’re not barbarian either! You have a voice of your own too, goddammit! You should have accompanied her--kept her safe!” 

Ian doesn’t try to fight back, nor does he try to answer me--accepts the physical and verbal beating just because he can tell he deserves it, which just pisses me off more, because I was kinda looking for a little bit of a quarrel. Mel and Jared combined can’t even manage to get me off Ian. As a matter of fact, it’s the youngest amongst the group who brings peace. 

“Hey! _Stop it!_ That’s not helping Wanda either.” 

Upon hearing the boy’s words and specially his mention of Wanda, I finally come to my senses again. Jamie’s strained voice, unmistakably mixed with tears, snap me and I release Ian. With a sigh of relief coming from all our spectators, I step aside to catch my breath. The tears on Jamie's eyes scare the hell out of everybody so I just drop my head. 

“Just go in there, check on Wanda,” I order, my voice a whisper now, addressing Jared, Mel and Ian. “Once you see her for yourselves, come meet me at the cafeteria. Jamie, will you please stay with her while we’re downstairs?” 

“Oh, don’t I deserve a scolding too?” 

“No. You don’t,” I reply succinct. I just turn around and head for the stairs to the first floor, then the cafeteria  where I order a tea, hoping it'll calm me down and also revive me. 

They take half an hour to get downstairs, more than enough time for me to cool down to receive them: they all appear with concerned and distraught faces upon visiting Wanderer, just like Jamie did, just like I did upon seeing her on that chair by the window. Ian’s the worst case: he looks absolutely appalled, almost as if he’d just witnessed a murder. I pull a chair out for him, since he looked as if he’d pass out or be sick at any moment, and ask for three more chamomiles so everybody can collect themselves. After some long minutes where Ian didn’t touch his beverage and Jared and Mel barely took a couple of sips, I start the conversation almost kindly, what with our prior attempt. 

“So, explain to me again how on earth did this happen?” 

“We shouldn’t have let her come alone,” whispers Ian, who sounds close to catatonic. I fear he might need the assistance of a Healer sooner rather than later. 

“I think we’ve already established that. What I meant to ask is, why did you ever let that happen?”

“And that’s been answered already too,” scowls Jared, running a hand through his hair, the other resting around Mel’s shoulders. Those are some of his tells. He’s almost as desperate and infuriated as Ian himself. 

“Okay, let me rephrase that--why didn’t you stop her? Or join her, for that matter?” 

“She didn’t let us,” whispers Mel. 

“And where Wanda’s concerned, what she says is just as definitive and round as what anyone else decides, ain’t it?” 

“Well, you know it is,” scowls the girl with a dramatic roll of eyes. 

“Really? Because I--” 

“What do you suggest we should have done to protect her from herself, Jeb? Keep it from her? That’s exactly what we tried when we first settled in Denver, hide the worse news from her, and it kind of backfired. She threw a tantrum you wouldn’t believe. If we had kept secrets from her again she would never have forgiven us.” 

“I doubt that very much. Wanderer’s physically incapable of holding grudges for much longer than three days straight.” 

“You didn’t see her back then, Jeb. Didn’t hear her accusations.” My Lord, by the way Ian’s phrasing it, I clearly don’t want to hear them now. What could Wanda have possibly said to scare Ian like that? And on the other hand, how could Ian believe those idle threats coming from Wanda? 

“Come on, guys. I don’t mean to keep her in the dark about absolutely everything,” I reply, resting my hands on the table. “That’s not how it works either. You tell her what she needs to know, without omitting anything relevant, sure. But you don’t put the weight of the whole world on her shoulders.” 

“We did not--” 

“I dare you to tell me you didn’t,” I scowl, piercing Mel with my eyes. “Then why, oh why, would she set herself into visiting all the Souls and humans living nearby your place?” 

They drop their heads, their arguments all but forgotten. Did they think I hadn’t heard about that one? About Wanda spending what should be her leisure time paying visits to both humans and Souls still remaining in the apartments nearby their home in Denver? I don’t claim to know everything, but I do care for Wanda, specially if she does anything troublesome that might get herself hurt. Although I might have found out thanks to one snitch who passed his last name and genes onto Ian. 

I sigh deeply, taking another sip of my tea, giving the three of them time to recover. 

“Listen,” I start off again, slowly, “Wanda doesn’t deserve this. There’s nothing I’ll ever regret more than seeing her in a mental institution.” 

“We didn’t send her here willingly,” interjects Mel. 

“I know that,” I promise, resting a hand on her shoulder. “But you’ll agree with me that she’s suffered more than enough and that meeting Martin was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Ever since she came to this Planet she’s endured more than she bargained for. I don’t charge you with her choosing the Earth and hence being inserted into a body that didn’t belong to her in the first place. I’m only saying that she did suffer from a host that fought her from the start, which forced her to live 24/7 with conflicting feelings and emotions. Then she almost perished out in the dessert. Then it was the physical and verbal abuse from our hand. The remorse for abandoning her people, the conflicting feelings what with you three, the persecution of the Seeker, Andy’s death. Back then she thought the best idea was to kill herself for everyone’s happiness, for jesus’s sake!” 

“We remember,” scowls Jared. 

“And when she was to be happy with her new life, the life with the person she’d chosen to stay with,” I add, tilting my head towards Ian, “she decided to risk her own life again and save the whole damn Planet. Remorse did that, you know. Remorse for being happy when so other humans weren’t, trapped inside of Hosts that didn’t answer nor belong to them. And then, when Souls started to leave, remorse kept nagging her because of what she saw as the genocide she’d caused with her bare hands.” 

“Jeb, we don’t need a ‘previously on our lives’, really. It’s bad enough as it is,” whispers Mel, gesturing with her hand to make me stop. I nod and take a deep breath, acknowledging, and start over. 

“My point is, Wanda didn’t ask for any of this to start with. She was just pushed around by everyone since she got to the Earth and never asked for a compensation of sorts, nor thought about getting out the easy way and leaving this Planet. She stayed because she loves us, granted, and we love her back dearly. But she’s suffered enough for the rest of her existence and it’s about time that stopped.” 

“Perhaps we should take her out of the body and send her far, far away?” 

“Leaving her family behind won’t do good with her either, Jared,” I scowl. “I just want her to be safe and happy for the rest of her existence here on Earth and to enjoy a peaceful life out there as well. And we’re all going to do our best to ensure that happens. Is that understood?” 

I look at them all in turn, waiting for their answers. They all nod, without making eye contact with me, a mixed of worry, uncertainty and disconcert. I do believe they’ve got the message and, were they more articulate in spite of the shock for Wanda’s state, they’d agree with my every word, so I settle. I finish my tea in silence. I’ve already given them a piece of my mind, I don’t think there’s any point in hammering them any further. Although they might not always act upon it, they’re grown ups and are able to grasp the state Wanda’s in. 

Specially Ian. To my right, his head and shoulders dropped, his tea untouched, he looks as if he’ll never be able to look up ever again. Sighing, I rest a hand on his shoulder. He flinches away from my touch before he realizes it was just me. The poor man must have feared I was going to attack him all over again. 

“Rest easy, Ian. Breathe. Wanda’s going to be alright. Just give her time to cope. And when she’s released, stay with her and keep an eye on her,” I admonish, now addressing Jared as well as Melanie so they’re all in on the loop. “Let her spend time with the family. Give her ordinary, normal, day to day problems that she can take care of without suffering a nervous breakdown. We’ll be alright, you’ll see.”


End file.
